


Ásynja

by bakurae (orphan_account)



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Always A Girl!Loki, Arranged Marriage, Avengers eventually, F/M, Genderbending, I don't know fashion or politics, Intersexuality, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-22
Updated: 2012-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 19:10:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/bakurae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Odin is not the Alföðr without due reason; he is indeed an entirely paternal figure. And so he rather wishes he could give the babe a life – how odd, that though his furs are matted stiff with Jötunn blood, that he should feel pity and long to raise one of their abandoned babes. </p><p>Laufey personally believes that the Odinson is a spoiled brat – only a century and a half old, and yet his tantrums are already   renowned in all of the Nine Realms. Still, perhaps this would be a better use to put the half-thing than to become a frozen corpse. Sell it to the Odinson for peace and the Casket.</p><p>(always a girl!Loki AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. arise, fair sun

**Author's Note:**

> Have some vocab before the reading...
> 
> Alföðr - a really Norse spelling of "Allfather"  
> Ásynja - the singular form of the feminine form of Æsir. Basically, it means goddess.  
> Natríum - Icelandic word for sodium. I really like [Eidolon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/209212/chapters/312732) by Llanval, and that is kind of where it comes from!

                Blood is still oozing sluggishly out of Odin’s empty eye socket when he catches sight of the Jötunn babe.

                The child is small, for a jötunn – the size of an Æsir infant perhaps. The poor babe does not squirm or cry like a babe its age should. It looks far too skinny, far too frail. Abandoned, unwanted, likely for being a runt.

                It is a pitiful sight, and Odin’s heart aches for the child. It has been left out to die in the icy winds of Jotunheimr alone and unloved. Left out to starve in the desolate wastes of a broken world.

                Odin is not the Alföðr without due reason; he is indeed an entirely paternal figure. And so he rather wishes he could give the babe a life – how odd, that though his furs are matted stiff with Jötunn blood, that he should feel pity and long to raise one of their abandoned babes. As it is, he can only give the child a merciful death instead of leaving it to a slow one.

                His heart switches from aching to unbearably heavy. He reaches out for the child, lifts it up into his arms by the swaddling, all the while being careful not to touch it and risk being frostbitten.

                This close up, he can see the family lines on the babe’s face. One of Laufey’s get. Odin now feels that he has been too lenient with the jötunn who took his eye. To let him keep his life and rule seems too much with the discovery of his abandoned babe. He wants to go back and dole out a harsher penance to the king of the Jötunn; first, though, he must take care of the child. Ensure the poor child does not suffer too awful much. He spares a minute to soothe the infant’s uneasy cries before Odin Alföðr draws his dagger.

                He steels himself to slit the babe’s throat. As the blade draws near, his finger brushes up against a tiny blue ear.

                Milky white skin blossoms and spreads, washing the icy blue out to pale Æsir flesh. Tiny, sleepy, lidded eyes turn from carmine to a soft emerald. The family lines sink down into the child’s skin. This changes everything.

                Odin sheathes the blade, and finds that he has suddenly become the father of two instead of only one.

                The Alföðr draws the child into his furs, and goes to confront Laufey again.

-o-

                Laufey doesn’t move from his throne when he spots the Alföðr approaching; he is like an ice sculpture. He refuses to crack or melt under the old áss’ gaze.

                “Alföðr.” His voice rumbles in his frozen throat. “Scare ten minutes after you ended the war with Jotunheimr. Why have you not left with your army? Do you mean, perhaps, to start the war up again?”

                “No, Laufey-King. This is not about the war. I would not start up such bloodshed again afore my men were properly rested, or afore Jotunheimr had a chance to rebuild its army and lands.”

                “Why have you returned to me again, then, Alföðr?”

                The Alföðr draws something out from under his fur. A babe. _His_ wretched babe. The babe that ought to have been born perfect and strong and was instead born small and flawed and halved.  Though the babe now wears the skin and eyes of an ásynja, it is his babe all the same and Laufey knows it.

                The sight of the damned half-thing makes him angry.

                “I found one of your get in the temple, Laufey-King. You know that no realm on Yggdrasil is in support of infanticide.”

Laufey also knows that no realm on Yggdrasil is currently in support of Jotunheimr either, but he does not say that.  “The Jötunn do not keep half-things, Alföðr.”

                The Alföðr sighs. “Still, tis a crueler thing than I thought you capable of, to leave a young babe out there like that. It is your babe, is it not, Laufey-King?”

                “…Aye, it is.”

                “Good. I have a solution if you’ll have it as well, Laufey-King. It is one that could ensure a permanent peace between our two realms and one that could see the Casket back in Jotunheimr sooner.”

                Laufey leans forward from his throne of ice, scarlet eyes focused on the Alföðr and the Alföðr alone. The _Casket…_ “We shall see. What is your solution, Alföðr?”

                The Alföðr pauses, hesitant to speak more. “A union between our children and realms. This babe would stay in Asgard, with no claim to your throne if you so wished, and be out of your hands. It would also be part of a political arrangement that would use this child as a sort of insurance.”

                Laufey considers it all. “So you think to keep the blood of Laufey as a hostage?”

                “Essentially, yes.”

                “Do as you wish, Alföðr. The child is of no importance to me while the Casket rather is, and I should be glad if it was out of my realm without my becoming a kinslayer. I should warn you though, that the child is not a proper jötunn. It is a half-thing, like you Æsir and Vanir.”

                “Ah. Which one of the halves?”

                “It has the parts of a Dam, and not those of a Sire.”

                “Yes.” The Alföðr glances down at the babe in his arms, a look unmistakably filled with the affection of a father. “That should do nicely, I think. I may invite you to her nuptials, in a century or eight.”

                “So the child is to be your son’s bride?” Laufey personally believes that the Odinson is a spoiled brat – only a century and a half old, and yet his tantrums are already renowned in all of the Nine Realms. Still, perhaps this would be a better use to put the half-thing than to become a frozen corpse. Sell it to the Odinson for peace and the Casket.

                “Aye; if the two of them will have it, she will be.”

                “It is done.” Laufey said, the words a clear dismissal.

                The Alföðr looks up from the babe. “One last thing, Laufey-King. What is the girl’s name?”

                Girl. What an awful half-thing term. To think that one of his blood had been born a half-thing. Vanir blood, he’ll not make that mistake again. Vanir blood that was promised to only give magickal prowess, but shrunk his child and split it in half as well.  
                “I had not thought to give it a name, Alföðr. Decide for yourself, and leave this place.”

                The Alföðr leaves, tucking the babe back under his matted furs. Laufey is glad to see them go.

-o-

                Frigga is not happy to see Odin when he arrives.

                The raw wound of his eye is uncovered and grisly, and he truly looks a sight. His furs smell atrocious and look even worse. Thor looks like he can’t decide to be upset about his father’s stolen eye or to be celebrating loudly that his father was triumphant against the wicked Jötunn.

                Her son also looks like he’s going to be sick, when he fully sees Odin’s empty eye socket.

                She kicks her husband out of the throne room after it empties of soldiers and noblemen, telling him not to come back until he’s bathed and dressed properly – they can discuss politics and the wartime and feasts later. Before he leaves, though, he shoves a rough little bundle out from under her cloak and into her arms.

                “Support her head, o beautiful wife of mine!”

                Where on Midgard did Odin Ginnarr get a _baby?_ During _war?_ If this is one of his misbegotten bastard children, Odin will be very lonely for the next month indeed.

                Frigga sits down on the dais before the throne and fumes with the tiny girl in her arms for some time. At his young age, her son looks adorably confused by all of it. He sits next to her, and pokes at the babe’s midsection.

                “Who’s that, Momma? Why di’ Father give her t’you? Is that a _sister?_ Di’ Father bring me back a _sister?”_

Oh, Odin better not have brought Thor back a sister. “Hush, Thor, I’m not certain myself. We must wait until your father returns.” She bounces the little bundle of a girl in her lap and motions for Thor to snuggle closer. “While we wait, why don’t I tell you a story?”

-o-

                Odin returns to the throne room clean and in fresh clothes, a golden eye patch fitted over his empty socket. Thor is asleep leaning up against his mother, who still sits with the babe in her arms.

                She looks up at him though, and Odin wants to cringe. His wife is angry with him.

                “Put Thor to bed, Odin Borson. We are going to have words.”

                Scooping the young princeling in his arms is not very hard, and neither is slipping him under the covers in the nursery. Facing his wife, however, is going to be very hard.

                He returns to the throne room with an awful thing that feels like fear in his stomach.

                Frigga shoves Laufey’s girl into his arms and whispers angrily. “If this is one of your bastard children, I will not forgive you, Odin. I love you faithfully and I will not just roll over and allow you to bring every child you sire into the palace. I will not abide with that, Borson, I will not!”

                He makes soothing noises at both Frigga and the babe who has been woken up by Frigga’s hushed anger. “No, love, wife, it is not one of my get at all. Trust me, dear. This is, well…The babe is Laufey’s.”

                “You brought a jötunn into the palace? And a _royal_ jötunn at that? Do you mean to incite the war again, or is your eye not the only thing you lost?”

                “Calm yourself, Frigga. There is no harm in it – Laufey will not come to rain destruction upon all of Asgard for the child being here. He gave his blessing. The child was unwanted for being a runt.” Odin pauses, here. “And most Jötunn are both; she is not. These things all rather…well, they make her rather perfect for a marriage of state between Asgard and Jotunheimr.”

                Frigga’s eyes widened. “But Thor is so young still, you cannot ask him something like this -- and you most certainly cannot raise the girl with the intention to be Thor’s wife.”

                “I know, dear, I am aware. But a princess abandoned to die in Jotunheimr by her own father and king is not something I could abide; and if Thor does not desire to marry her when they are both of age they will not have to! It could rather be like Freyja and Freyr, where she could just become a part of court.”

                Frigga sighed. “I suppose that is acceptable, husband. Do not mess this up; it shall all be on your head. Now, what’s the girl’s name?”

                “Laufey did not ever name her. It is up to us to name her instead.”

                Frigga thought. “Drífa? Mjǫll? Fönn?”

                “Frigga, all of those names mean _snow.”_

“And? She is a jötunn, after all!”

                “We cannot simply name the poor child ‘Snow’.”

                Frigga mock pouted at her husband. “Loptr? Hulda? Not Thordis, no, that’d be awful…Wasn’t there a jötunn named Loki once? That’s a nice name, it’s both Æsir and Jötunn…What say you, Odin?”

                “Loki was an awful fellow, let me tell you that. He’s rude and tricky – but it is a nice name indeed, wife. If you are sure, that may be the little princess’ name.”

                “So be it, then.”

                Odin thought that for as put out as Frigga had seemed upon catching sight of the child, she had certainly warmed up to the idea of raising a young jötunn princess. He felt that - perhaps - giving her a little girl to fuss over would make her happier than a brood of sullen princes ever would.

                “Now, let’s see. We’ll need a wet nurse, most likely – what do jötunn infants _eat? -_  and we’ll need to get a crib set up in the nursery, and a few dresses made up, and toys. We’ll need to talk to Thor and explain it, and figure out what to tell the court… Odin love, if you’d take care of Thor and the court, I can do the rest.” Frigga bounced Loki absently in her arms as she spoke.

                “Of course, dear. But first, perhaps we could rest a while in the garden? War is very tiring, you know.”

                “Oh! Yes, of course. Go sleep for a while instead, Odin. The nursery will be fit to accommodate both children when you wake and we can discuss what to tell the court then. Thor will know the truth, obviously, so I’ll just explain it to him in simple terms. Go rest, love. I have it all under control.”

                “This is why I love you, Frigga. Besides all of your other exemplary traits and your stunning beauty, of course.”

                She snorted. “Go to bed, dear.”

                “Yes, yes. Goodnight, Frigga, sunshine of my life, my beacon of hope in a dull grey world – “

                “ _Bed,_ Odin.”

-o-

                Thor sleeps soundly through the rather noisy redecoration of the nursery.

                Of course, this means as soon as Frigga had set Loki down in her crib and shushed her to sleep, Thor woke up and decided to be as loud as possible.

                She hushed Thor, and stressed that “it is _very_ important that you do not wake the baby Thor, promise me you won’t wake the baby?”

                “O’ course, Momma!”

                “ _Not so loud, Thor!”_ Frigga says urgently, quietly. Then, in a calmer tone, “do you want to hear about the babe?”

                “Yes!”  
                “Come here then, my prince, let me tell you all about Loki…Asgard’s been at war with Jotunheimr, you know that. And your father has recently won the war. He – well, I suppose he found the poor dear. She’d been left out alone in the snow, or something similar, abandoned by her parents. Very sad, yes?”

                “Why woul’ someone leave their babe ou’ in the snow?”

                “I suppose they didn’t want her, Thor. Loki is a girl; most Jötunn are both girl and boy.”

                “Oh…tha’s very sad.”

                “Yes, it is. So your father found her, and spoke to Laufey – yes, Thor, don’t interrupt, the king of the Jötunn. As it turns out, Loki is his daughter, and a princess. She’s been sent to live with us to insure the peace and one day you might wed her.”

                Thor looks over at Loki, sleeping in the crib peacefully. His face scrunches up, confused and childish. “So she’s…jötunn, Momma?”

                “Aye, Thor, she is.”

                “I though’ they were big and blue. Loki’s jus’ normal and borin’.”

                Frigga can’t help it – she laughs and gathers Thor up into her lap, tweaking his nose. “Yes, wee lad, but she’s still jötunn!”

                “I don’t understand.” Thor insists with a pout.

                “Magick, my dear child, magick. Now whenever Loki wakes up – do you want to hold her?”  
                “She’s too tiny for me to hold her. If she was big like a proper jötunn, I bet I coul’ hold her! But since she’s small I’m ‘fraid I might break her.”

                “You won’t, I promise.”

                Thor doesn’t respond.

                Feeling slightly wicked, Frigga grins and tickles up the side of Thor’s pudgy baby belly to make him shriek with laughter. “Let it not be said that the mighty Thor is afraid of anything, right? Right, child?”

                Thor is still giggling after the barrage of his mother’s tickling subsides. “I s’pose it couldn’t hurt…if I was really careful.”

                “Mhm.” Frigga nods, and rests her chin on Thor’s head. She hums a soft tune under her breath, and the two of them wait for Odin or Loki to wake.

-o-

                Odin and Frigga decide to tell the court a partial truth for now; to tell them that Loki was an abandoned child Odin came across in another realm during the wartime and that they are raising her as their own daughter. They will not tell the court that Thor and Loki might be wed. They will not tell the court Loki is jötunn.

                They do not plan to tell _Loki_ that Loki is jötunn.

                Not until she is much older, they think. Maybe when she is five or six centuries. Not while she is still so young. They do not want to tell a child of only three centuries that her real parents left her out to die. How would they even explain that to a girl so young?

                They tell Thor that he must not speak of any of these secrets, and that Loki is also to be his sister so he must treat her as such.

-o-

                Loki blinks up at Thor.

                Thor grins and descends to blow a raspberry on her stomach.

                Loki’s legs flail wildly as she laughs, and Thor laughs as well. Thor’s nanny, however, does not laugh. It is Thor’s bath time, and the young prince is _stalling_.

                She grabs Thor’s collar and wrestles him out of the nursery.  
                Her charge is grubby and sticky, there is a victory feast later tonight, and if it takes all of Asgard to drag the prince into the bathing rooms, she _will_ get him clean.

-o-

                They are pleased to find, some short years later, that he cannot divulge these secrets, because he has forgotten them –as children are wont to do - in awe of his new little ‘sister’.

-o-

                Thor squirms on Frigga’s lap while Odin is busy officially introducing Loki as Loki Odinsdóttir, as a part of the court, a princess of Asgard, and a part of the royal family. She gently pinches his upper arm, whispers to him that a prince must not fidget, and then plops him into his own seat next to her.

                Odin hands over Loki to a waiting nanny; the nanny doesn’t take long before absconding with her young charge. The feast begins with a roar of voices and the clanging of plates.

                Thor slips out of his seat at the head table about two thirds of the way through the feast. He whispers into his mother’s ear that he’s going to go check on Loki before he scampers out of the mead hall.

                She smiles indulgently at him when he runs off, and Odin looks pleased to see Thor’s enthusiasm about Loki.

                When they creep by the nursery to check on the two children, they see that Thor has liberated Loki from her cradle, is curled up around her, and is fast asleep.

                The king and queen are halfway to their own chambers when Loki starts crying.

                It has been more than a century since they’ve had to deal with the irregular sleeping schedule of babies, and Frigga groans out loud when she remembers what it was like to care for Thor as a newborn. The next few years are going to be exhausting and awful.

                _…Maybe Jötunn children start sleeping through the night sooner than Æsir babies_ , Frigga thought desperately.

-o-

                As it turns out, Jötunn children do not sleep through the night earlier than an Æsir babe.

                Frigga isn’t particularly upset.

                Frigga finds out that Jötunn children do not get colic.

                Win some, lose some.

-o-

                Loki cries and does not stop; she hasn’t stop crying since the noontime meal, and it is nearing dinner. She wails and sobs and throws her little baby fists around. Frigga knows why – the poor thing is teething.

                And nothing short of Jotunheimr itself is cold enough to soothe the babe’s pain.

                They have chilled soft rags, wrapped ice in those same soft rags, given her small chunks of ice and large chunks of ice, and yet she refuses to gnaw on them and relieve her pain. It only makes Loki fussier and more upset.

                Loki cries and does not stop; Frigga sits down and cries with her.

                It has been more than a century and a half since she last dealt with a teething infant. It has not been long enough.

                Frigga is fed up. She grabs the wailing Loki, and marches into the throne room.

                Today is the people come air their petty grievances to the king. Frigga is one of the people, and she plans on airing this particular grievance loudly and wearily.

                Odin brought Loki into her life and home. Loki may as well be a child of Frigga’s body, for all that Frigga loves her. But Loki cries and _does not stop._

Odin can spend a day in front of the whole court listening to the never-ending sobs of the child he brought to Asgard. Frigga is going to take the rest of the day off.

-o-

                The council meeting stops abruptly as Frigga sweeps into the room. She is beaming, and carrying the princess in her arms, with the prince tagging along behind her. “Odin, you will never guess what just happened.”

                “What is it, love?”

                “Loki just took her first step!”

                The councilmen are witness to one of the more bizarre events seen in Asgard.

                Frigga places Loki on the ground careful to keep her upright. When she lets her foundling daughter go, she encourages her with a “Go walk over to your father, Loki!” and a bright smile.

                Loki looks over at her father, then back at her mother. She stares at Frigga blankly.

                “Walk over to Odin, Loki, show him you can walk!”

                Loki frowns and toddles over to Thor. Frigga sighs and turns Loki around to where she faces Odin instead. “Over to your father? Please?”

                Odin is waiting expectantly; he is expecting for Loki to walk over to him. Not expecting for his daughter’s face to scrunch up and begin to wail.

                The councilmen are privy to seeing their king crouch down a foot away from his daughter and frantically call for a piece of honeycomb, a toy, anything to make her stop crying and just walk over on him on unsteady feet.

                Loki is far more willing to walk over to her father when he has a piece of sweet honeycomb in hand.

                The councilmen dare not laugh at the look of relief on their king’s face.

-o-

                “Momma. Loki won’t say my name. Is she broken or somethin’?”

                “No, Thor. Some babies just talk at different paces. I suppose Loki just doesn’t want to, right now.”

                “That’s stupid. She should want t’ talk t’ me! I’m fun to talk to.” Thor does not pout. That was not a pout. That was _princely displeasure._ Loki was his baby, and she should be talking to everyone, but she wouldn’t even say his name!

                “Thor…” Uh oh. That was never a good tone when his mother used it. It sounds like he was going to be confined to the royal quarters for a week.

                “Fine, it’s not stupid. Still. Why won’t she talk t’ me?”

                “Just keep trying, Thor. She’ll talk to you eventually. Give her time.”

                Thor turns back to Loki, crouching down in front of her again. “Thor. Say Thor. Thoooor.”

                Loki stares at him while looking completely disinterested. Thor persists with determination. “Say it! C’mon. Thor. Say Thor, Loki.”

                “Nnyo.”

                Thor whirls around again to face his mother. “Momma, did you hear that? She told me ‘no’!”

                “Nnyo.” Loki smacks her lips together and giggles. “Nyo nyo no no no nononononono!”

                Frigga laughs and bends down to press a kiss to her daughter’s brow. Thor frowns and crosses his arms, glaring at his mother and Loki. “Say THOR!”

                “No no no!”

                “Thor, I’m sure she’ll say your name eventually.” Frigga smiles and runs a hand through his blond hair. She picks up and balances Loki on one hip and reaches down for Thor’s grubby hand. “Let’s go inside now, children, it’s almost time for your naps.”

-o-

                Loki learns other words quickly. “Yes,” and “mama,” and “papa.” Frigga’s personal favorite is “dumb.”

                Frigga rather thinks that Loki _could_ say Thor if she really wanted to, and just chooses not to.

                When Loki leans in to her ear to whisper loudly - “T’or dumb!” - Frigga’s suspicions are proven correct.

-o-

                A girl of one and a half century and a boy of three centuries should know better than to throw food in the mead hall, but yet here the two children are. The little rapscallions don’t even have the decency to look ashamed of themselves.

                Loki’s dress is sticky with watered down mead, pudding, and smashed fruit. There are little strips of meat in Thor’s blonde hair, and he has cream all over his tunic.

                Frigga feels like screaming.

                The nanny is lucky in that Loki is still young enough to wear only white; the dress can be bleached. Thor’s chambermaids, on the other hand, look apoplectic when they see the young prince’s shirt.

-o-

                The loom’s threads are shining and knotted, and it is Frigga’s job to detangle them and the fates that go with. Her fingers pluck at the knots, quick as a cricket, and she hums while she works.

                Her two children are huddled around her, Thor on her left and Loki on her right. Loki’s head rests on her knee, and Thor has an arm hooked around her leg. They sing to the tune she hums, a marching dirge.

                They’re not very good at it – the song goes up and down the scale, and it’s meant for men on the war front, not children at their mother’s knee – but it’s sweet nonetheless.

                Frigga dreads the day she finds either one of her children’s threads tangled up in her loom.

-o-

                Odin guides his children down into the treasure vault. He tells them of the glorious history of Asgard, shows them the various magickal artifacts.

                When he gets to the Casket of Ancient Winters, he keeps his eyes on his daughter’s face.

                She is transfixed in the blue glow, and doesn’t look away from the Casket. He sees her reach out a hand as if to touch it, and –

                “No, Loki.”

                Loki is startled and drops her hand, as if she did not even realize what she was doing.

                He tells them of the war between the Jötunn and the Æsir. Thor knows a little of the war; Loki knows none. When the story is done, Loki pauses. And then asks, in a tremulous voice, “Do the Jötunn still live?”

                Before Odin can answer his daughter, Thor does it for him. Except his son’s answer is wildly inappropriate. “When I'm king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all! Just as you did, Father.”

                “No, Thor. The Jötunn are _not_ monsters, nor do you want to instigate another war. A wise king never seeks out war. But he must always be ready for it.”

                “I’m ready, Father.”

                “One day, Thor, you may say that and have it be true.”

                Odin grabs his daughter’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly – though she does not know what for yet, one day she will. He holds his son’s hand as well, and leads them out of the treasure room.

                “Now I’ve had enough history for today, haven’t you? Let’s go see what your mother is up to.”

-o-

                Thor swings a blunted wooden sword around in the royal gardens while Tyr guides him in the drills and forms of swordsmanship. From the sidelines, perched on a marble bench by Frigga’s side, Loki watches him.

                “…Do I have to go to weaving circle?” The words are hardly audible, mumbled.

                Frigga clasps a hand against her foundling daughter’s shoulder and pulls her into a soft hug. “Is there something wrong with weaving, Loki?”

                Like Loki could tell her she didn’t want to weave. Weaving was – weaving was Frigga’s _domain,_ and she would be crushed to hear her only daughter didn’t desire to learn the art.

                “No, Mother, but…But I think listening to the court girls’ gossip while twining thread together sounds rather dull and tedious.”  
                Frigga rubs her shoulder comfortingly. “Try it out for me. If you do not like it, you can quit. But you ought to try.”

                “I suppose I’ll try it.”

                “That’s a good girl, Loki.”

                “…Mother?”

                “Yes?”

                “Can you make Tyr help me learn to fight better? He teaches Thor, but he won’t teach me. Every time I ask he just pats me on the head and tells me to ‘stick them with the pointy end’ if I ever had a need, and then tells me I’ll never _have_ a need.”

                “I’ve got a better idea, love. Tyr is rather pigheaded, he will never teach you properly. I was a shieldmaiden once upon a time; I can teach you just as well as Tyr can. If you try going to the weaving circle, I’ll try to teach you more of the fighting arts. Do we have a deal?”

                “Yes, Mother. I believe we do.” Loki smiled up at her.

                They look back to Thor just in time to see him slip in the dirt and fall to the ground in a heap.

                Ladies, Loki is told almost constantly, do not snort while they laugh. So Loki is very glad she is a girl yet and neither a maiden nor a lady…Though Frigga _is_ a lady, and she snorts as well.

-o-

                The light in the sickroom is dim, and it makes Thor think of ill omens. It makes him feel like they shoved his sick little Loki into a dark room to be forgotten and lonely. It is not their intent, and he knows that, but he feels it all the same.

                She isn’t awake. Her rest is fitful and interrupted by coughing fits; her brow is shiny with sweat, she must be too hot under the mountainous pile of thick blankets and yet she _shivers_ when the blankets are removed.

                The Æsir do not often fall ill.

                Thor thinks that maybe there is something wrong with his sister. Something he cannot fix.

                Loki is so small yet, three and a half centuries, too young and too _royal_ to die in a sickroom. The poor may die of starvation or dehydration or by an infection occasionally. The royal family dies in battle, or in childbirth, or very rarely they are assassinated. They do not die in a dark sickroom with some mysterious ailment.

                She cries out in her sleep, and Thor cannot do anything to help her. He is almost a man, and he ought to be defending his little sister from the enemy that makes her cry like that. There is no enemy for Thor to slay here; he can only wait and worry like a mother hen.

                Frigga pats his hand where it rests on Loki’s mound of blankets, and wipes a soft cloth across her face.

                “…Where’s Father?” It is upsetting to not have his father here with him in such a – a difficult time.

                “He went to another realm, to see if they have anything that can help Loki’s ailment heal. He shall return soon, child.”

                Odin arrives in Asgard almost three agonizing hours later, carrying a small bag of pink granules. He says it is called “ _natríum_ ” and that it should heal Loki. He does not say where he got it; Thor does not think to ask.

                After all, if Loki is healed, then the specifics don’t matter much.

-o-

                Weaving circle doesn’t work out. The court girls are sickeningly nice in the way only girls of the court can be while remaining ever manipulative and jumping at scraps to get just a little bit closer to queen-hood.

                There is one girl who is acceptable enough to be Loki's friend, and to be introduced to Thor and his own friends; Sif Sverrisdóttir. She is pleasant to talk to. Sif is _interesting._

                She doesn’t like weaving either, and she wants to learn to fight. Sif is like Loki. Sif is bloodthirsty in a way Loki thought only boys and men could be. Loki rather wants to be like Sif in that regard.

                Loki begs her mother to let Sif learn the fighting arts with her.

-o-

                If there is one person in the royal family who will be easy to assassinate, it would be the princess.

                She is the youngest, a clever little thing if the rumors are anything to go by, but a little thing none the less. And as the princess, she would be weak and soft and helpless like a babe. She is always in finery, draped in silks and satins and jewels. Such a girl would never learn to fight. The princess is of course formidable in magick, but magick is a benign art. Flashy sparks and illusions, nothing more. She could not best them. They are sure.

                After the next feast, they find the princess wandering around the halls by herself. She makes herself too easy a target, really, and they need to send a message to the royal family.

                When she sees them, the dainty slippers she wears slow to a stop. A group of men with visible weapons out walking towards her; no guards in sight. They think they make a formidable vision.

                She draws a hair ornament out from inky black curls. The ringlets fall in a curtain around her head.

                The end of the hair comb is sharp and nasty looking. She kicks off her dainty slippers. As if this is no big deal.

                Princess Loki lunges for them, wielding the hair comb like one would a spear. The look on her face is like a banshee; they do not know if she is screaming curses as them or if they are screaming for mercy at her.

                The end of the comb has been poisoned.

-o-

                  Her hair is braided upon her head in a halo. The dress she wears is elegant and a bright red – the color of Thor’s cape, Thor’s color. It’s striking, but not to her taste. A golden circlet is placed on her head, with matching bracelets and rubies. She’s beautiful and every inch a princess.

                  Thor has finally reached his thousandth year, and is going to be crowned king in a few hours, and Loki is concerned for him.

                 When he is crowned king, Odin is going to announce his son’s betrothal. No one honestly knows who he is to be married to, but there will be ambassadors from every realm in attendance. There will even be Jötunn arriving. After eight and a half centuries, there will be Jötunn outside of Jotunheimr.

                 Loki sighs, and leaves her chambers. She searches out her elder brother.

                 “Nervous, brother?” She smiles, impish and delighted to have found him. He is, she knows. He will not admit it, but he is.

                 “Have you ever known me to be nervous?”  
                  They bicker quietly for a while after that. Loki can tell that it helped relax Thor greatly. She grins at him. “Now give us a kiss, brother, and go talk to mother before your big day.”

                 He snorts and smacks her shoulder. “Stop it, you. Go on ahead now.”  
                  “…You’ll be a great king, Thor.”

-o-

                “Thor Odinson, my heir, my first born. So long entrusted with the mighty hammer, Mjöllnir, forged in the heart of a dying star. Its power has no equal! It's a weapon to destroy or as a tool to build. It is a fit companion for a king. I have defended Asgard, and the lives of the innocent across my realms in the time of the great beginning.

                “Do you swear to guard the nine realms?”

                “I swear.”

                “And do you swear to preserve the peace?”

                “I swear.”

                “Do you swear to cast aside your selfish ambition and to pledge yourself only to the good of the realms?”

                “I swear!”

                “And on this day, I Odin Alföðr, will proclaim you...”

                Ice explodes and begins filling up the room. There is screeching and yelping. Odin does not finish his sentence

                Nine of the ten Jötunn who had been allowed into Asgard for Thor’s coronation day had been standing still and impassive, and now they are in a flurry of motion. They throw ice across the room, and it hurtles towards Odin and Thor.

                Loki shrieks when a jötunn grabs her arm; the red velvet freezes and shatters, and she can’t breathe because it’s _not burning like it should be._

The jötunn stares at her. She stares at – it. Him. Her. Odin had told her once that Jötunn were both. Them? What do you call someone who is both male and female?

                Thor has seen them.

                Her arm is blue, and she thinks she is going to vomit in the throne room. How embarrassing.

-tbc-


	2. deny thy father and refuse thy name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor meets with a man who introduces himself as the Son of Coul. The talk they share is idle and rather banal, something about an Avenger’s initiative – avenging what, he does not ask. Some strange black folder is pushed into his hands. It has screens like those on Darcy’s “cell phone” and the screens display a wide array of odd Midgardians.
> 
> Loki falls down face first onto her bed, pressing her face into the pillow. The noise that rips out of her throat is an odd mix of screeching and sobbing, and she doesn’t care enough to stop it. She is a jötunn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More vocab!!
> 
> Mjölnir - Thor's hammer. You know this. Duh.  
> Gungnir - Odin's spear!  
> Norns - Norse fortune-telling ladies, who also water the tree that the universe is. Or something like that. I'm not a Norse Mythology major.  
> Býleistr - one of myth!Loki's brothers.  
> Helblindi - same as Býleistr.  
> Yggdrasil - the world tree  
> Vanr - singular form of Vanir, who are an Aesir-like group of fertility gods.  
> Ljósálfr - singular form of Ljósálfar, aka light elves.  
> Witenagemot - Basically like Ye Olde English council, kind of based off Norse councils. I ended up using witenagemot because there are two different Norse councils - things and folkmoots. Things I couldn't use for obvious reasons - it's a word meaning like a random object in English, not a council, and no one would know what I meant by it! And a folkmoot is more of a meeting of commoners who decide things than an appointed counci; so, witenagemot.

                Loki’s free hand scrabbles under her skirt only to find the empty sheath of her dagger. She curses; remembers that there were no weapons allowed in the throne room today besides Mjölnir and Gungnir. In a show of _peace_ between Asgard and the other eight realms.

                 She throws her hand back as hard as she can, catching the jötunn holding her in the hip. He – she – the jötunn lets out just the tiniest exhale of breath. Loki has to try very hard to hold in a frustrated scream.

                The blue is spreading and blue _isn’t a feeling_ , yet she feels it crawl up her shoulder. It feels like dread and ice.

                She is about to create a small explosion to free herself, when Mjölnir begins speeding towards them. The jötunn falls backwards as the hammer connects with her – his – the jötunn’s shoulder, and Loki is snapped forwards.

                She lands in a heap on the floor and when she gets herself back onto her feet, the blue is gone.

                Loki dives clumsily behind a pillar and calls her dagger to her side with magick.

                She jumps back out into the fray.

-o-

                Laufey is surprised when his men – and his _princes –_ snap into motion.

                The Odinson was about to be crowned, about to formally betrothed to the girl who was still technically a princess of Jotunheimr, about to fulfill the prerequisites to getting the Casket back. And they had to go and attack the Asgardians.

                He knows he cannot stop it now that it has started, and so only watches the chaos unfold.

-o-

                Jötunn might be much larger than the Æsir but they are outnumbered, so it does not take long for the nine Jötunn to be subdued and trundled off to a makeshift cell. Laufey claims not to have known what they are planning, and wishes for the peace to remain intact and negotiations to release the nine Jötunn.

                “No! The Jötunn must pay for what they’ve done!”

                “Thor, I cannot. Laufey’s princes at least must be released as soon as conceivable, and we have no true authority over the other seven. They will be released into Laufey’s authority, and then they shall leave Asgard for punishment.”

                “If they had killed someone…!”

                “But they didn’t, Thor.”  
                “They just broke the truce, Father!”

                “No. My truce is with Laufey, to stop any acts of war between us, and this was not an act of war. There were no generals or soldiers here, just desperate young men.”

                “Inaction such as this will make the other realms laugh at us!”

                “Well then, Thor, my all-wise son, what action would you take?” Odin’s voice is dangerously sarcastic. Thor doesn’t notice.

                Thor _never_ notices.

                “March into Jotunheimr as you once did. Teach them a lesson. Break their spirits so they'll never dare to attack the people of Asgard again!”

                “It was the act of but a few, my son. Not the act of an entire realm.”

                “As King of Asgard – “  
                “But you're not King! Not yet.”

                Thor falls silent. He is glaring at Odin, yes, but he is silent.

                Odin is too old for this.

                His son huffs indignantly and storms out of the room. Odin wonders if letting him go is the right thing to do here; he could explain politics, make a lesson out of this. As it is, Odin knows now that Thor is too pugnacious to be king of Asgard.

                He hopes Thor goes to find his sister. Loki is surprisingly good at talking him down from his tempers. He hopes Thor did not see Loki’s arm turn Jötunn-blue. He almost hopes _Loki_ did not see Loki’s arm turn Jötunn-blue.

                He knows she did, though.

-o-

                Loki slides out from behind her pillar when Thor enters the room, and waits patiently while he over turns a feasting table laden with food.

                “It is unwise to be in my company now, sister.”

                “Now who ever said I was wise?” Loki sits down casually on the steps, motions for her brother to join her.

                “This was to be my day of triumph.” Honestly. Was Thor pouting? He’d be on the throne in fifty years or sooner. Such childishness.  
                “Thor, it shall come in time. Be patient.” She reaches over to pat his shoulder, tattered sleeve swinging with the movement. They sit in silence for a few more minutes. “I…think I may be cursed, brother.”

                “Is this about your arm?”

                “Yes. I do – I do not know why that happened.”

                It’s Thor’s turn to be comforting, and he almost succeeds. He clasps her neck and draws her close to him. “If any of those filthy Jötunn have cursed you, it will not go unpunished. I promise you this, Loki.”

                Loki sighs. “Thank you, brother.”

                “Of course, sister.”

-o-

                Odin finds his son in Laufey’s embassy suite. Yelling and raging. In a blatantly _hostile_ manner _._

He listens closely to what Thor is screaming about, and feels dread settle in his stomach. Thor believes Loki has been cursed by the jötunn princes, and is threatening to take it as an act of war. 

                Laufey looks vaguely amused. Odin thinks – Odin _knows_ he is not telling the truth to Thor just so Odin will have to suffer through it at a later date. He is angry, though. His son is more than old enough to know not to do something so irresponsibly stupid.

                “Thor.” His voice is clipped and cold. “Leave the room with me a minute. I apologize for my boy, Laufey-King, and ask you wait a minute for me to return to you.”

                Thor is about to protest; Odin silences him with a glare. He is not pleased. How could he have been about to proclaim this boy both a man and a king? Thor still has so many lessons to learn…

                When they are out in the hall, he doesn’t bother to keep his voice down. “Thor. How _dare_ you threaten war against Laufey for something you have no proof of? How dare you accuse a foreign sovereign of such a thing?”

                “Father, I –“

                “No, Thor. You could have incited another great war- all because you believe Loki to be cursed. You are willing to risk hundreds of men’s lives over something you have _no proof of?_ You are not ready to be king. I was a fool to think you ready.”

                “Father, I cannot believe you will just let this transgression pass.”

                Odin rubs the bridge of his nose. “Thor, let’s take a walk. I feel like we have much to discuss.”

                They walk through the palace grounds silent. Thor looks curious when they leave the grounds, go past the city limits. Odin does not talk until they reach the Bifröst bridge.

                There, he prattles on about responsibility and leadership as they walk down the rainbow bridge. He acts as though he plans to use the Bifröst to make Thor understand why war is not an option, or to make him understand the gravity of kingship of Asgard and how a king should react to conflict with the weight of eight other realms resting on him.

                He motions subtly for Heimdall to open the Bifröst.

                And then he begins.

                “Thor Odinson, through your arrogance and stupidity, you almost opened these peaceful realms to the horror and desolation of war. You are as of now unworthy of the rule and protection of these realms. You are unworthy of your title. You are unworthy of the people that depend and will depend on you in the years to come.”

                Odin tugs Mjölnir out of Thor’s hands. His son’s armor begins to dissipate, and Odin tears his cape out from the back.

                “I now take from you your power! In the name of my father and his father before, I, Odin Alföðr, cast you out.”

                Before Thor is thrown out of the Bifröst, Odin speaks very quietly. “It is not permanent, my son. Temporary. Learn the lessons you must learn and return to us.”

                Thor gets pulled into the stream and disappears. Odin whispers into the hammer’s magic and metal.

                “Whoever holds this hammer, if you be worthy, you shall possess all the power of Thor.”

                He throws the hammer after his wayward son, and hopes Thor proves himself worthy soon. And that Midgard does not have too awful many people worthy of wielding Mjölnir.

                …By the Norns, he is going to have to tell Frigga that he banished their son.

-o-

                Býleistr paces in the room he and the other eight Jötunn have been placed in until his Dam negotiates their freedom. He hopes it’s quick. The entire city smells of Asgardian stink, and this makeshift cell is no different.

                His shoulder still smarts from being hit with the Odinson’s hammer.

                He thinks of the way the princess’ arm had turned the same shade of blue as his own flesh.

                The plan had been to get the Casket back, and leave. Now that they had failed, it was easy to see it was a childish plan and one that never would have worked. At the time, though…they just wanted to surprise Laufey-King with the gift of having their Casket back.

                Býleistr waits for his Dam to arrive.

-o-

                Odin calls a guard over to him when he reenters the palace. “Announce that Thor has earned himself a temporary exile. And send Frigga and Loki to the throne room to wait for me. I must speak to Laufey.”

                “Yes, my king.”

                “Good. Off with you now, lad.”

                The guard goes scurrying off to his tasks, and Odin walks towards the council room where Laufey is waiting for him.

                “Thor has been exiled for his foolhardy actions against you as a foreign sovereign today. I hope you’re pleased and choose not to press war like we have chosen not to press against you. Now, what shall we do with the nine Jötunn? We must be in agreement for their punishment, Laufey-King, and it cannot be too lenient.”

                “Of course, Alföðr,” Laufey’s voice is oily. Odin always forgets how much of a _snake_ Laufey is. “My boys could be beaten and the men thrown in the icy crevasses for seven years.”

                “This is acceptable, on the condition that we may keep the Casket from Jotunheimr for fifty years more.”

                Laufey scowls, but he accepts with a nod of his head. “Yes. So be it. Let me collect my men and princes, and we will be off for Jotunheimr.”

                “This way.”

                Odin guides Laufey through the palace to the room where the other nine Jötunn are being kept. They are released into Laufey’s custody, and all ten of the Jötunn are escorted out of Asgard.

                The hostility between both parties is thinly veiled. Odin despairs at the thought of something like this happening after Thor had been crowned king. War would have been inevitable, had Thor been king.

-o-

                Loki, when she is angry, becomes an icy statue. Odin thinks that is a fitting description, given her heritage. She neither moves nor speaks, just stands and glares at the target of her wrath.

                But Frigga’s anger is palpable and hot, filling up the entire room. She is wound up tight, holds herself stiff and tense. Her fists are clenched very tightly, and when she speaks it is in a hoarse whisper. “How could you have done this?”

                That sentence is what makes Odin realize she is not only viciously angry; she is also immeasurably saddened. Maybe even grieving for her son.

                “Do you know what he could have set in motion – what, if he had been king, he would have set in motion? He was about to be king! Had those Jötunn decided to act out an hour later, how many men would already be dead on the crags of Jotunheimr?”

                “But _banishment_! You would lose him forever for such a thing?” Her voice is rough. She is a motherly figure like he is a paternal one; sometimes too much so. This is one of those times. And then, as if she read his thoughts, her voice escalates to a shout. “He’s your son!”

                “…What would you have done, Frigga? Give him a slap on the wrist when he is a man grown enough to know better? Thor is not a child anymore, but a prince of Asgard, and it is time for him to behave as such.”

                “I would not have exiled him to a world of – of _mortals_ to learn his lesson _.”_

“Some lessons must be learnt the hard way, wife, and this is one he needs to learn as quickly as conceivable. I too grieve the loss of our son, Frigga, but it is not permanent nor is it meant to be.”

                Frigga sits down on the dais of the throne and cries into her hands. Loki finally uncrosses her arms and moves to sit down next to her mother and pulls her close. Frigga cries into Loki’s thin frame, and Loki does not stop glaring at Odin.

                That glare says a lot of things. It says, ‘How dare you make my mother cry?’ and ‘How dare you banish Thor for a thing so petty?’

                Odin sighs.

                “Loki, come here. We saw what happened to your arm today.” He doesn’t bother to say that he already knows why it happened. That would make her feel – defensive. Angry. Maybe even betrayed.

                “It turned blue.”

                “Yes.”

                “Am…am I cursed?”

                “No, Loki.”

                “What am I, then?” Loki’s voice catches and chokes.

                “You’re my daughter.”

                “What more than that?” His daughter’s eyes widen with what looks like dawning horror. “Oh no. No, no, no, no. The Casket wasn’t the only thing you took from Jotunheimr that day, was it?”

                Frigga gets up from the steps of the dais to pull Loki close to her in an embrace, as Loki had done to her just a few minutes earlier. “Yes, he brought you here from Jotunheimr. Hush, child, calm yourself. Let him tell the story – and remember to _breathe_ , love.”

                Loki takes in a few shuddering breaths, and dabs at her eyes with the still-ruined sleeve of her dress. When she looks composed enough, Odin begins.

                “In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the temple, and I found a baby. Small for a giants offspring, abandoned and suffering. Left to die. I found Laufey's daughter.”

                “Laufey’s daughter. I thought the Jötunn were both? Not just one.”

                “Yes. You were…different.”

                Loki sounds like something small that had been stepped on. “…Why? You must’ve been knee deep in Jötunn blood, why would you take me?”

                “You were an innocent child, Loki.”

                “No!” She screams. It’s frustrated and hurting and, yes, betrayed. “You took me for a purpose, and you know it. What was it?”

                “Loki, calm yourself…” Frigga tries to interject.

                Loki whirls on her. “Get out, mother. Just – leave us for a while. Please. _Please._ ”

                “Fine. I will be right outside.”

                “Thank you.”

                When the door shuts behind Frigga, Loki becomes agitated again and Odin does _not know what to do_ to stop it. When she was little, she could be coaxed out of bad moods by honey sweets or a new book. This isn’t like Thor shoving her into the mud, it’s not some childhood injury, and Odin _does not know how_ to stop it.

                “Tell me why you took me!” Her voice sounds hoarse and raw and so heavy. “Tell me!”  
                Odin really does not want to tell her about her and Thor’s betrothal. He cannot even reassure her that the plans no longer matter. He would’ve gone through with it by this time already, had the Jötunn princes not decided to take matters into their own hands.

                Suddenly he wonders how he was going to tell both Thor and Loki after their coronation. He can’t even tell Loki _now._

“…I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day. Bring about an alliance. Bring about permanent peace, through you and through Thor.”

                “What?” Odin can see his daughter’s eyes widen, and sees her take in _why_ she had been dressed in Thor’s red today. Understands what had almost, almost happened. “Why didn’t you tell me what I was from the beginning?”

                “What you are is my daughter. I only wanted to protect you from the truth, Loki.”

                “What? Because I...I...I...I'm a monster that parents tell their children about at night?”

                “No. _No!_ Loki, my own mother was a jötunn, not monstrous. Stop this foolishness.”

                Loki shakes her head, distraught, and disappears from the room with a flash of green light. Odin sighs, and opens the door to see Frigga staring at him.

                “That could’ve gone better, I admit it. No! Don’t get testy with me, Frigga, just help me to my bed if you would. The Odinsleep will be upon me soon. Try to…try to talk to Loki.”

                His wife is still not happy with him, but she nods anyway while guiding him to the Odinsleep room.

                Before he succumbs to the sleep, his wife leans in and whispers. “Think about letting Thor back soon, dear.”

                He cannot object or say Thor has a lesson to learn, he can only lie motionless and restful under the golden restoring haze.

-o-

                He meets the surface of Midgard with a crack; dust rises up around him, and his mortal bones ache with fierceness previously unknown to him.

                Thor stands up.

                Thor goes flying back in the air when a noisy metal contraption comes out of nowhere and hits him. There is a peaceful blankness, and then a woman’s voice.

                “Oh my god, please don’t be dead.”                      

                Dead? He is Thor Odinson – death is for creatures lesser than himself, not him. He could not be dead. He opens his eyes wearily to prove he is still in the realms of the living.

                A different woman than the first is now babbling. “I think, legally, that was your fault. Oh wow, does he need CPR? Because I totally know CPR.”

                He pushes the first woman away from him (but gently, because even though he doesn’t have his godly strength anymore, he does not desire to injure her) and stands up. Thor wobbles, unsteady.

                That’s what makes it sink in. _Unsteady._ He hasn’t been unsteady on his feet since his first century of age.

                He yells up at the sky for Mjölnir, for Heimdall and the Bifröst, for his father. He only stops when the second mortal woman points a strange device – a weapon – at him, the mighty Thor!

                Thor feels the lightning in his veins again, but this new mortal body cannot handle it. And, oh, that peaceful blankness is back again.

-o-

                He wakes up again to a mortal man in strange blue clothes wielding what looks like an oddly tiny dagger.

                Instinct from battle kicks in, so he attempts to force his way out of the small and too-clean room. Something stings the back of his neck.

                The blankness is back again. It is staring to lose its peacefulness and just become irritating.

-o-

                This time when he wakes, he has been restrained to the uncomfortable bed. He squirms and pulls at the oddly soft manacles – they do not give, and he cannot break them. They’re strange and tight, no metal he’s ever heard of. They rather feel like some form of cloth.

                The mighty Thor cannot even tear his way out of _cloth._

It’s frustrating.

                He squares his jaw and sets to twisting his hands out of the black cuffs. He succeeds.

                No one catches him as he makes his way through the building and out what appears to be the front door.

                He’s about to make a break for it completely, when he’s hit by the same terrible metal contraption as before. Thor is thrown back down to the ground, again.

                By Yggdrasil, this was going to be a long lesson to learn if he kept getting knocked down on the floor.

                “I’m so sorry! I swear I’m not doing this on purpose!”

                They introduce themselves. Jane is the woman who had asked him to not be dead, and Darcy is the woman who had attacked him with the infant lightning bolt.

                They take him back to their place and offer a change of clothes to him. He accepts; it’s nice to have two semi-friendly semi-familiar faces around.

-o-

                Loki falls down face first onto her bed, pressing her face into the pillow. The noise that rips out of her throat is an odd mix of screeching and sobbing, and she doesn’t care enough to stop it.

                She is a jötunn.

                Father – Odin – was going to marry her off to Thor. To the man she thought her _brother._

                And she’d been abandoned as an infant to die in the wastes of Jotunheimr for missing her cock - and for being stunted. But also because she was missing a cock. Wonderful.

                Eventually, the noise tearing out of her throat stops. She dries her face with the ruined red gown before pulling it off and throwing it across the room. Loki changes into something simpler and _not tattered._

She really doesn’t know what to do. On impulse, she reaches for a heavy tome off the shelf and throws it at the far wall with all the force Loki can muster. The wall dents.

                Loki reaches for another book.

                By the time half of her books are piled at the far wall, someone is watching her. Frigga. _Mother._

When Loki is finally, finally done throwing books at the wall, she feels slightly better.

                 “Your father is in the Odinsleep.” Frigga murmurs quietly. “You must know he loves you as his own, Loki.”

                Loki hesitates. “I am not so sure anymore, Mother. If he brought me here only to wed Thor, I do not – do not think so.”

                Frigga looks outraged. “Is that what he told you? Child, come here.” Frigga pulls Loki into an embrace, and squeezes her. “He is ever so awful with words. He would not have raised you as his own if he did not love you as a daughter.”

                “I do not think so, Mother – I just, I…”

                “Hush up now, no more foolishness from you. Come with me – we’ll go visit your father in the Odinsleep chamber and you can talk to him there about the things that bother you. We shall get everything cleared up.”

                Frigga leads Loki out of the room by the hand.

-o-

                The golden haze is so bright over her father’s – Odin’s – her _father’s_ prone form, and he lies so still on the ceremonial bed.

                “I never get used to seeing him like this.” Loki admits. “It’s strange to see the most powerful man in the nine realms lying helpless.”  

                “He has put it off for so long now. I fear this Odinsleep may be longer than any other.”

                “How long, do you think?”

                “I don’t know.” Frigga admits. “The longest has ever been only three days. It may be a week before he wakens again.”

                There is a companionable silence. Loki loathes to break it, but. But.

                “So why did he lie?”

                “He kept the truth from you, so that you would never feel different or unwanted. And in truth, Loki, you are more similar to us than any other Jötunn. You are our daughter, Loki. And we your family.”

                Loki nods, slowly.

                “What of the throne now, Mother? With Father in the Odinsleep and Thor on Midgard…”

                Frigga’s silvery laugh catches her off guard. “It’s only been a century since Thor started acting as king while Odin slept – who do you think did so before, child?”

                “Oh. It was…you? The witenagemot ran the kingdom while Odin slept, I thought.”

                “Half of the members of the witenagemot can’t even choose their own tunics in the morning, Loki. Why on Midgard would I let them control Asgard for any portion of time?”

                Loki laughs with her mother. “Most of them are rather dull.”

                “Try telling your father that.” Frigga pulls a face. “I think the most entertaining thing about the Odinsleep is that you can say whatever you’d like to him and he can’t argue with it. Perhaps, if you still have some doubts, you could express them to your father now?”

                Frigga’s unsubtle change of topic to what Loki had been dragged down here to do originally didn’t please her. Loki grimaces. “I don’t particularly want to talk of it.”

                “Loki.” Frigga’s voice is unexpectedly stern. “Your father is not the best with words, and conflicts are solved more easily when he’s forced to think about them for some time. I insist you do.”

                Loki fists the fabric of her skirt.

                The words are an unrelenting torrent that flow out of her mouth; she physically cannot stop them, they just pour and pour and pour. Odin listens, for he has truly no other choice in this.

-o-

                Thor finds mortal foods surprisingly delicious. There are small tartlets that advertise themselves as “popped” though he honestly does not know what they mean by that. He eats an entire box of them anyways.

                And now Darcy and Jane have taken him out for more Midgardian breakfast foods. He has a cup of something hot and dark and delectable-smelling, and sweet flat round cakes.

                When he finishes the dark drink Darcy calls “coffee,” he does what any proper Asgardian would do. The ceramic of the cup makes a pleasant tinkling when it smashes against the tiled floor. “Another!”

                Jane and Darcy stare at him in something like abject horror. “What was that, Thor?” Jane asks. as if she truly cannot comprehend.

                “It was delicious! I want another.”

                “Well, you could’ve just said so.” Her voice is stern for some reason.

                “…I just did.” He knows he must sound confused

                “No, Thor, she means asked nicely.” Darcy chimes in.

                Oh. Is smashing cups impolite on Midgard? How odd. “I meant no disrespect!” Thor says earnestly.

                “…Alright.” Jane says warily. “No more smashing. Deal?”

                “You have my word.” Thor swears.

                “Good.” Jane looks strangely exasperated.

                That’s just not fair - he truly did not know!

-o-

                They hear tale of a satellite that had crashed fifty miles west. Apparently, no one has been able to lift it. _Mjölnir._ Thor gets up to leave in a rush, moving with purpose out into the path. Jane runs after him.

                “Wait, where are you going?” She asks, in between huffs of air.

                “Fifty miles west of here, of course.”

                “Why?”

                “To go fetch something that belongs to me.”  
                “Oh? You own a satellite now?”

                “It’s not just a satellite.”

                “Well, whatever it really is, the government seems to think it's theirs. So you just intend to go in there and take it?”

                “...Essentially, yes. If you take me there, I will tell you all you wish to know.”

                “Everything?”

                “Yes. All of the answers you will seek will be yours when I reclaim Mjölnir.”

                Darcy catches up to them, panting. “Myeumyu? What’s Myeumyu?”

                Erik is close behind her. “Mjölnir…as in the hammer of Thor?”

                “Aye.”

-o-

                Erik pauses. “Jane, I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

                “What? I’m just gonna drive him!”

                “He's delusional. Listen to what he's saying. He's talking about Mjölnir, and Thor and the Bifröst! Those are the legends I grew up with as a child. Norse legends.”

                “It’s just driving, Erik, I’ll be fine. I promise.”

-o-

                “I've never done anything like this before. Have you ever done anything like this before?” Jane asks nervously.

                “Many times,” Thor admits. “But you’re brave to do it anyways.”

                “Well, it’s not like I can get in trouble for driving you out here. If you’re not who you say you are, I lose nothing. And if you are, hey! I helped a Norse god reclaim his hammer.”

                Thor smiles. “You’re far cleverer than anyone else in this realm.”

                Jane laughs. “Realm? Realm? Really, Thor?”

                He laughs with her too, but her laugh is edging towards quietly mocking. Thor doesn’t know if he likes it. “You think me strange?”

                “Yeah, yeah. I do, Thor.”

                “Good strange? Or bad strange?”

                “I’m not entirely sure yet.” Jane admits. “Okay, we’re here.” She cuts the engine of the car and clambers out. Thor follows her.

                There are tents of plastic and more automobiles around, surrounded by a tall fence. Thor grins.

                “Stay here. Once I have Mjölnir, I will return for you.”

                “Wait, you think you’re just going to walk down there and grab it, and walk out?”

                “No.” Thor grins again, anticipation creeping up on him. A good fight is rare to find on Midgard, but their government ought to at least provide a semi-satisfactory one. “I’m going to fly out."

                Jane hugs him swiftly. “God, I hope you’re not crazy. Good luck!”

                It starts raining. Thor starts running.

                Thor feels lightning in his veins.

-o-

                On the throne, Frigga smiles when her son approaches the hammer. Thor might be under a punishment Odin inflicted, but the king is fully capable of lifting it.

                Or, in this case, whoever sits upon Hlidskjalf.

                When his hand grasps the hammer, she lifts the spell.

                Thor has learnt much in his two days of absence. She has seen this in her loom, that what he has learnt on Midgard will help him serve to be a just king.

                And she wants her son back.

-o-

                He lifts Mjölnir high in to the air. It feels natural, like a hand he did not realize he was missing.

_Thor feels lightning in his veins._

                His armor engulfs him and he feels whole again.

-o-

                Men in black Midgardian suits ask him to come along with them. Thor is not afraid of them – they could not do anything to stop him or harm him now, so he indulges in them.

                They ask if he is going to hurt the Midgardian people; he is not scared of them, but it seems they are scared of him. He swears on his life he is not, and would much rather protect them. Midgardians rarely even live to their first century, he knows this, and they are like small children in the eyes of the Æsir.

                The men in black are pleased with this. He meets with a man who introduces himself as the Son of Coul. The talk they share is idle and rather banal, something about an Avenger’s initiative – avenging what, he does not ask. Some strange black folder is pushed into his hands. It has screens like those on Darcy’s “cell phone” and the screens display a wide array of odd Midgardians.

                A man made of metal, and yet not, named Anthony Stark. His armor is truly magnificent. Thor doesn’t understand how it works, but he’d be glad to fight with one such as this Stark.

                There is a man less strong than he but stronger than most Midgardians. A Steven Rogers. Steven Rogers is very old for a Midgardian, almost to his first century, and does not look old and frail like most Midgardians his age. A man much like Thor, it seems.

                There is a green beast. They call it the Hulk, and the Hulk is sometimes a man called Bruce Banner. Bruce Banner seems quiet and intelligent, but truly Thor looks at his other greener form and thinks he would be an excellent beserker. Every team needs one of those.

                Then there are two extraordinary Migardians who are somehow still average people. The knowledge he is given of them is limited compared to the others, but…The man is an archer. Clint Barton. Apparently he has never missed a shot. There are moving pictures of him shooting with his bow, and he does make some impressive shots. The woman, there is even less knowledge of. Her name, Natasha Romanova, and her face. There are some moving pictures of her as well, but very short, very limited.

                 He would be honored to have these Midgardians as shield-brothers (and shield-maiden) and he tells the Son of Coul such.

                 He is then brought to meet a man who looks almost like a mix of Heimdall and Odin, and who has a similar position to both of them.

                 Thor accepts the offer the man gives him. Swears to protect Midgard whenever they require it. He tells the man – Nick Fury – that whenever they have need of him, to call up at the sky for Heimdall and tell him they need Thor.

                He leaves the government facility easily.

                He forgets about Jane waiting for him in his excitement of this new team he has joined on a whim. He calls for Heimdall.

                It is only after he is standing on the rainbow bridge when he realizes he has forgotten his mortal companion. Well. The Bifröst is still here – he can visit her whenever he likes.

                Frigga and Loki are waiting in the throne room. He hugs his mother, clasps a hand affectionately on his sister’s throat.

                “Father is in the Odinsleep.” Loki informs him solemnly. “Mother is ruling for now. She believes you still have much to learn about kingship, and so does Father.”

                Thor nods. “I think I must agree, sister.”

                Loki smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I must go check up on Father,” she says abruptly. She leaves the room with a nod to Frigga.

                Frigga nods to the steps of the dais. “Sit, my son. We have much to discuss.”

                Thor does so.

                “Do you remember the day we brought Loki to you, Thor?”

                Thor shakes his head. “Not exactly. I know she is not my sister by blood, nor is she an ásynja in anything but name.”

                Frigga sighs. “You were still so young then. Only one and a half centuries of age. We told you the truths eight centuries and fifty years ago; on the day we brought Loki to you. You forgot them.”

                “And the truths are…?”

                “Loki is jötunn.”

                Thor blinks. “Mother, surely you jest. Loki is a girl! A vanr, perhaps. Ljósálfr, maybe. Not jötunn.”

                Frigga’s tone is stern. Thor is rather tired of women being stern at him for reasons he knew not. “There is nothing wrong with being jötunn, Thor. You are part jötunn yourself.”

                “Mother, she is _small._ She is not _bl…_ Oh. In any case, she is not _both_ genders. She is female. The blueness could have been a curse, or – she is a shapeshifter! Perhaps her shape shifted so as to avoid being harmed by the jötunn’s touch.”

                “Thor.” Frigga leans forward. “You must understand. Loki is jötunn. She did not even know herself until the day of your botched coronation when her brother grabbed her arm.”

                Thor feels slightly betrayed by not having this knowledge before hand. And then. “Her brother?” He isn't jealous that Loki has a  _real_ blood-brother. Isn't jealous at all.

                “Yes. Býleistr-Prince and Helblindi-Prince are Loki’s half-brothers. You know, it was much easier to explain this to you when you were but a century and a half.”

                “So…Loki is not only not my sister by blood, but a Jötunn princess? And you _knew?”_

                “Oh, Thor. Of course we knew. Odin found her abandoned for being tiny and only female. He knew she was one of Laufey’s get. She’s actually… a rather important part of the peace treaty. She is still your sister and still our daughter. Do not be unkind to her when she needs your kindness the most.”

                Thor nods, uncertainly, but he nods.

                If Loki is jötunn, truly, then he has been wrong about the Jötunn all along. Loki can be as sweet and gentle and playful as she is vicious and ruthless and cruel. If she can be those things…other Jötunn can as well.

                He has not slayed monsters, but people, if Loki is jötunn.

                Thor suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

                His mother motions for him to stand up, and Thor does. She hugs him once more. “Go find your sister. Wait for your father to wake up, love. Everything will be righted.”

                When he reaches the halls, he fights the urge to vomit in one of the flowerpots. Thor walks towards the Odinsleep chamber.

                He’s going to speak to Loki; if he can make himself apologize for every last nasty thing he ever said about the Jötunn, he is going to do that as well.

                He thinks his sister could also probably do with a hug right now, which is great, because Thor could do with a hug right now as well.

-o-

                Odin lies still as any stone when Loki moves into his frozen line of sight. His daughter does not talk yet, just sits down on one of the golden chairs by the large bed and does something suspiciously like wringing her hands. He wishes he could smile at it. She always denied that the court ladies had any influence on her behaviors, but there was the proof of it right there.

                “…Mother brought Thor back.”

                Oh. He wishes he could stand up and rage at his wife, but. At the same time, he feels relieved to have his son back. Surely. Surely being gone from Asgard, where everything is given to him freely, for two days will have helped Thor learn his lesson. Perhaps Frigga even caught a glimpse of that in her loom.

                Loki is still talking, he realizes. So he focuses on the rush of words flowing out of her mouth.

                “And now, right now, she’s talking to him about my bloodline. Ancestry. Heritage. She’s not going to tell him about your arranged marriage nonsense, you know. She says that’s for you to tell him since it was never her idea. I hope you’re looking forward to that, because no one else is going to do it for you.”

                By the Norns. He really didn’t want to tell Thor. It would've been easier to just anounce their betrothal after Thor's coronation and have it be a surprise to both of them. Odin wishes he could just sweep it under the rug now. How could he have ever thought it a good idea?

                Wait, scratch that. It was a good idea. A great idea, even. Just…not one he wanted to explain to his son.

                 The door opens with the slightest creak. He can see Thor now – his son looks weary. Good. Perhaps the lesson _had_ been learnt.

-tbc-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, that was that chapter 2. Still incredibly self-indulgent. Wherein Thor joins the Avengers because "eh, don't got anything better to do" and wherein Loki gets a lot of hugs from her momma.
> 
> Next chapter is probably going to be up in the next week or two, and...well, here comes the wedding, I guess! It won't be over after that though, so don't worry. u___u If you were, uh, worrying.


	3. give it an understanding, but no tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He can’t help but notice Loki’s tense shoulders relax when the first thing he says to her is, “Sister.” Thor wonders what she thinks he might’ve said instead. How high is her opinion of him, if she was so apprehensive about it? Did she think he would call her monster and liar and traitor and witch and thief? Hopefully not, but still.
> 
> Loki is curled up in the more secluded window-seat in the library. She holds the book tightly in her hand, something about animal husbandry. Even on a good day, she might have found this book boring. Today, she cannot keep her attention on the words. Husband.

                 He can’t help but notice Loki’s tense shoulders relax when the first thing he says to her is, “Sister.” Thor wonders what she thinks he might’ve said instead. How high is her opinion of him, if she was so apprehensive about it?

                Did she think he would call her monster and liar and traitor and witch and thief? Hopefully not, but still.

                That doesn’t matter. Thor pushes those thoughts out of his mind, and says again, “Sister.”

                Loki stands up from where she sits by Odin’s bedside, and hugs him fiercely. “Asgard is not the same without you here to help Sif and I rile up the Warriors Three, Brother,” she mumbles into his chest. She does not mention her newfound winters’ heritage, though she _must_ know he knows now.

                He hugs her back, careful not to do anything so unseemly as to bruise her – last time he did such, she cursed him so that he could not taste wine or mead for a week. It was truly dreadful. Thor brushes his lips against her forehead like he did when they were still young children.

                “Then let us go see what they have been up to in my absence, Loki.”

                She laughs into the armor of his chest. “Volstagg has been eating, Fandral fucking, and Hogun has been gloomy as ever, of course!”             

                Thor laughs as well, but says, “Aye, but sister, what would mother say if she heard you say such a thing of Fandral?”

                Loki grins impishly. “She agrees, you know. She’s not some dainty little flower, either. She knows her fair share of curses and obscenities. Mother is…much like myself.”

                “Hush up, liar. I will not hear such falsehoods of our mother from your lips!” He’s teasing, so Loki’s face does not darken with sadness or rejection, and instead she titters at him. “So, Warriors Three and the Lady Sif! We shall go see what they are doing.”

                Loki nods. “Let’s.”

                Thor offers his sister his arm in a wordless gesture, and she declines with a faint shake of her head. The two head out into the golden halls that lead to the courtyard – neither of them notice the golden miasma dissipating over Odin’s prone form.

-o-

                Laufey does not relent until after both his boys are bruised and battered. He sighs. “To the healers’ chambers, both of you. Come back as soon as you’re healed; we have much to talk about, my sons.”

                Býleistr helps his younger brother up from the floor, and they exit the room. Quietly, and abashedly. Good. They ought, at least, to feel the slightest remorse for their hasty actions.

                Laufey does not want war with the Æsir; he wants the Casket back. His boys ought to feel lucky that they got off so easily, with bruises and shallow cuts that will be healed in a short amount of time, considering that they almost got him the exact opposite of his wishes.

                He waits for his boys to return, and idly creates thin spires of ice under his palm out of boredom. The spires crushed without a single thought when Helblindi walks in again, followed by Býleistr.

                They are healed and healthy again, with nary a scratch on their blue flesh. Laufey motions for them to sit down, and they do, after creating chairs of strong ice to sit on.

                “We must talk about what you’ve done,” He says it gravely, maybe too gravely. But this is important. They could’ve caused another great war. They could have _died._

Helblindi looks embarrassed, a purple flush across his face. “I’m sorry, Dam. We thought of retrieving the Casket for you…It would’ve been a nice surprise.”

                “Helblindi, hush up.” Laufey snaps at his youngest. “We both know that you had no part in the planning of this. Though you ought to have known better, it was your _elder brother_ who ought to be fessing up.”

                Býleistr grimaces. “I did not think such tiny things would be able to overcome us, Dam. Have my most sincere apologies that we failed.”

                “I do not want your apologies for failing, my boys. I want your apologies for doing something so reckless. For sending seven good men into the crevasses for seven years. For messing up plans you had no notion of.”

                His eldest perks up. “Plans? To retrieve the Casket?”

                “Yes, Býleistr, you thrice damned fool; I did indeed have plans set in place to have the Casket returned to us. A plan that was less foolhardy and a plan that has been set in motion for the past eight centuries and a half. All of which would have been for naught had the Alföðr not been so very… _generous.”_

Helblindi frowns. “Your plans are still working because of the Alföðr’s generosity? Does that mean he knows of your plan, then?”

                “Shut up, Helblindi. Dam said nothing that alluded to that.” Býleistr sniffs, acting for all of Midgard the world’s most self-satisfied older brother.

                Laufey cuffs him around the head. “Don’t be rude, Býleistr. Your brother is more…mm, attentive when it comes to words than you are. He is correct.”

                “What plan could possibly get us the Casket back if the _Alföðr_ knows of it?” Býleistr squawks indignantly.

                “A political one that would not fail?” Laufey suggests testily. “We would have the Casket back by now, I believe, had you two not decided to take manners into your own hands.”

                Both of his boys hang their heads ashamedly.

                “What was – is? – your plan, Dam?” Helblindi asks. Good, sweet, dear Helblindi. So smart and so respectful. Sometimes Laufey believes he should put Helblindi on the throne instead of Býleistr.

                Laufey pauses. “Helblindi was but half a century old, and the war was…Jotunheimr was losing everything. Her people. Her respect from the other eight realms. I made a deal with one of the Vanir noblemen, highly talented with magick. The deal was that I’d give him various items out of the treasury for a child. He guaranteed that the child would be – phenomenal in the magickal arts. He said that it would not be different from any other Jötunn, besides that magickal power.”

                Laufey rubs the bridge of his nose. He is tired. He does not want to recount such a disappointing thing from so many centuries past. He continues to speak anyways.

                “When the child was born, it was. A half-thing, and fit easily in my hands. It is scary to hold a babe, so tiny so easily in your hands. The wretched thing undoubtedly had incredibly powerful magick, but Jotunheimr does not keep half-things. So I abandoned it in the Temple of Ymir, and Odin came across it. He asked what gender it was. It had the parts of a Dam, and I told him so. He asked, then, if he could have it and raise it as his own. Marry it off to the Odinson, in return for the Casket.”

                Laufey thought the implications of this were obvious. Particularly the part about raising it as his own. But Býleistr opened his mouth again, so obviously not.

                “So it was the Odinson’s mysterious betrothed? Our, what’s the half-thing term for this? Sister? Our sister is the one to marry him? But no one knows who it was to be!”

                Laufey reaches out again to smack his eldest, but Helblindi beats him to it.

                “Býleistr, sometimes I wonder if you have anything in that thick skull of yours. Think about it. The girl? Yes, the girl, that’s the word for it, she was raised as a part of the house of Odin. We already know that that princess of his isn’t Æsir or his daughter by blood. And that same girl’s arm turned blue when you touched her. It would be – Princess Loki, was it?”  
                “Aye, child.” Laufey nods. “So when she and Thor are wed - if they are wed – we shall receive the Casket back. I believe Thor has been banished to Midgard, however, so we must play the waiting game a while longer.”

                His boys sit in silence a while longer, thinking over what Laufey has told them.

-o-

                Sif is sparring with Fandral when she sees Thor and Loki walk into the courtyard. Fandral stops dead in his tracks when he catches sight of Thor, something he would not do in a real fight, and Sif takes advantage of it.

                Fandral falls hard on his ass, dust rising from the dirt of the training grounds.

                Volstagg, Loki, Thor, and Sif break out into peals of laughter. Hogun does not smile, but his eyes twinkle with amusement and the corner of his lips twitch up with mirth – which from Hogun is as good as a hearty guffaw. Fandral scowls and dusts his trousers off while the laughter dies down.

                When all is quiet and calm again, the Warriors Three and Sif flock around Thor and Loki.

                “You’re back already, Thor? We’d heard you’d been banished not three days ago and yet here you are!” Volstagg says enthusiastically. He thumps Thor on the back hard, grinning.

                Thor pounds Volstagg’s back in return, and says, “Aye. Mother lifted the banishment, and Odin hasn’t wakened yet. I may be sent back to Midgard when he awakens.” Thor admits sheepishly. “But tis good to see you again, my friends!”

                Hogun shakes his head. “Thor, I doubt he’d do that.”

                “You’d also doubt he’d ever banish Thor in the first place, had he not done so earlier.” Loki says simply. “Let us talk of happier things, warriors and lady.”

                They know from experience that Loki is no court lady. She is not delicate, and in some ways she is strangely maudlin. She is not a simpering fool that would only speak of the joyful things in life and ignore all else.

                They also know from experience that to call her out on such only incites her wrath, and when she wishes to play the demure courtesan it is better to play along with her.

                “Of course, my lady.” Fandral says cheerily. “Why, during Thor’s absence, the Warriors Three went on a hunt in Álfheimr…”

                The talk is of banal but ultimately pleasant topics. They talk of the hunt, they talk of _weaving circle_ (and how awful it is) and they talk of Thor’s hopefully-upcoming-coronation, until a guard walks over to them.

                “My prince, my lady, the Alföðr requires your presence in the Odinsleep chambers. If you would come along with me…?”

-o-

                Odin blinks and pushes himself off the bed and stumbles over to the door. He sticks his head out, catching the eye of the guard stationed there. “Go fetch the queen, would you, lad?”

                “Of course, my king.” The guard nods and sets off for the royal quarters.

                “And ask my children to come here, as well!” Odin calls after him. He’s not acting with a lot of decorum, but he never really does after the Odinsleep.

                The guard nods as he turns the corner of the glistening gold corridor. Odin sighs and sits down on the edge of the lavish Odinsleep bed.

                Frigga pokes her head in to the room, golden curls in disarray. “Oh, you’ve woke. I’m glad, husband.” She moves over to him fluidly, and Odin is, for a brief second, jealous. His wife has aged gracefully, and he has…not. He wonders if it is because he has to deal with more stress from ruling.

                Frigga sits down next to him, and kisses him softly. They sit in a companionable silence, holding hands loosely, until Thor and Loki announce their presence at the door.       

                “Father, Mother.” Thor says, and Loki nods in accord. “Tis good to see you wakened.”

                “Aye.” Loki agrees solemnly, glancing between Thor and Odin. Odin can see the question in his daughter’s sharp green gaze – are they telling him now? Is this the time when the horribly awkward conversation is to occur?

                Odin nods in her direction, barely noticeable. Better get it over with lest Thor think they kept him in the dark on purpose.

                “Sit down, Thor, we have much to speak of.”

                “Of course, Father,” Thor says earnestly. Loki sits down at the golden bedside first, with Thor following.

                “First is your banishment. It was perhaps, lifted before it ought to have been. But I have no doubt that since I know now what needs to improve in your character before your kingship to help guide you along the path…and living with mortals for however short a time will help you remember your lesson well, yes?”

                Thor looks put out to be told he is not perfect, and Odin realizes that very rarely has he criticized his prince. Perhaps he should do that a tad more often, to help Thor become the great man he can.

                Frigga adds in to the conversation. “Also, that team you joined on Midgard. Thor, you simply cannot rush into things like you did that. You had no idea if their intentions were noble or not, Heimdall tells me. He says they asked if you were a threat, you said no, they asked to have you protect Midgard, and you said yes. As a king, such a thing would be unacceptable. You might’ve thrown treaties out of balance and created war. Even as a prince, it is not alright to simply do such.

                “Heimdall also says, though, that this team’s intentions are noble as you assumed. You shall be allowed to fight with them, should they have need. But Thor, you _must_ think things through and ask questions before you agree to things.”

                Thor nods again. “Of course, Mother. And – did he say anything of Jane? She provided me with sustenance and shelter and I…rather, forgot about her.” Thor rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.  
                Frigga smiles at her son. Odin knows Thor thinks it is a motherly smile, and he is right, but Odin also knows it is the same smile she bestows upon him when he is being a splendid idiot. “Yes, Thor, the lady Jane is alright. She is rather angered by your leaving her behind, and she wishes her science could’ve been completed. You may go down to Midgard to see her soon if you wish to.”

                His son sighs in relief. “She is not too mad?”  
                Frigga blinks. “Why would your absence dement the lady, Thor?”

                “She is not…too angered?”

                “I do not think so.” Frigga muses. “Now onto a different topic, I think. I’d rather not dwell on an unhappy topic such as your exile in a happier time such as this.”

                “Yes, yes, a happier topic then.” Odin agrees. He knows that Frigga is not a demure lady to shy away from unpleasantness. His wife is serious and fierce and wonderfully impassioned, not a delicate shrinking blossom. He also knows from experience that to call her out on this is to be sleeping in the embassy suite instead of his own for a month. “Your coronation.”

                Thor does not pout, but his expression is one of princely displeasure. And by that, Odin means his son pouts like the child he is. “How is that a happier topic, Father?”

                “Tis not really a happy topic, my son, but tis a happier topic than your banishment.” Odin says sternly. “Now your coronation will likely not happen for at least another half-century, but there is still the matter of your betrothal.”

                Thor looks startled, as if he had forgotten all about it like he forgot about his lady companion on Midgard. “My betrothal?”  
                “Yes, Thor, your betrothal.” Odin says, wondering how his son grew up so… thickheaded. “It shall be announced and the wedding commenced within a half-year.”

                “Who is it, Father?” Thor leans forward in his seat, and because of this, he does not notice Loki shying away from him to go stand by the golden door.

                Odin sighs. His idea was genius, it was just going to be so hard to explain and make his son _see._

Frigga smiles at him sweetly. “Go on, husband, and tell him who his bride-to-be is.” Odin despairs. His wife is a cruel woman.

                “Loki.” He admits, but to his children it must sound as if he is calling her back over to the bedside, for Thor does not look shocked and Loki drifts over to them with skirts trailing on the ground.

                “Yes, Father?” There is tightness in his daughter’s face that says, ‘I will not tell him for you, old man.’

                “Sit, you are to be included in this conversation as well.” Odin waves at her seat.

                Loki sighs loudly, as if she is being greatly imposed on, and sits down next to Thor again.

                “…So my betrothed?” Thor prompts.

                Odin takes a deep breath and a pause before he continues. “Your betrothed is _Loki_.”

                Thor stops. And thinks. Odin can see the gears turning in his son’s head. And then Thor laughs. “That is not a fine jest, Father, but a truly laughable idea anyways! Now the truth, who am I to wed?”

                Thor is still focused on Odin; he does not see Loki’s face sour up. “No, Thor, our _dear_ father speaks the truth.”

                Thor’s face drops. “You cannot be serious. Loki is not my sister by blood, but my sister nonetheless!”  
                “Thor.” Frigga cuts in smoothly. “Let your father explain. Hush.”

                “Thank you, Frigga.” Odin throws a grateful glance to his wife. “Now, as I was saying, your betrothed was Loki. I assume your mother told you of Loki’s heritage?”

                “Yes,” Thor answers simply. “She has.”

                “Did she mention the treaty between Jotunheimr and Asgard?”

                “Aye.”

                “The treaty is one designed to let the Jötunn be subjugated for no longer than they must be, and Loki is an instrumental part in this.” When Odin looks to his daughter, her eyes are closed as if she is peacefully blocking out such awful words, but her body is strung tightly as if she is fiercely enraged by this. He will make it up to her later, he knows.

                “We raise the princess they did not want, and wed her to you. There is a jötunn queen in power, and they receive the Casket of Ancient Winters back. They cannot attack Asgard or any of the other nine realms with a jötunn queen on Asgard’s throne, therefore allowing them to become great again without being a potential threat.”

                And then, Frigga interjects, “And neither of you must go through with it if you do not wish to. It would be the best for Asgard and Jotunheimr if you did agree to it, but it is not something you must do.”

                Odin watches Thor allow this knowledge to sink in.

-o-

                He is to wed his sister.

                Thor turns to Loki where she sits beside him, and meets her gaze. She is pretty, but he doesn’t feel an overwhelming attraction to her. He wants to clasp her neck and draw her to him and kiss her on the forehead as an elder brother is wont to do, but not to kiss her lips and throat or anything unseemly such as that.

                “How do you feel about this, sister?” He asks.

                “I have no strong feelings towards it either way,” she says, but it is a lie. She is known to lie, and Thor can see her hands balled into fists and digging into her gown. Can see the high strung nervous energy in the rigidness of her back and shoulders.

                “The truth, Loki.” He prompts her.

                Loki sighs heavily. “As a princess of the highest realm, I have been expecting to be shipped off to marry to some prince, duke, or king for quite some time. The fact that it is you, Thor, is surprising. I do not want to wed you. You are my brother.”

                 Thor makes to speak, but Loki cuts him off and continues.

                “However. It would be considered bad form if I put my personal wishes before those of my people, right Mother? Both of my people would benefit through this, so…I do not know.”

                Frigga looks worried. “Loki, if you do not want to, you do not have to. We both agree that Odin’s plan was rather daft.”

                “Mother.” Loki smiles at her, but it’s the dangerous kind of smile Frigga throws his way when he is being exceptionally foolish. “We can speak of this later. Thor, what say you?”

                Both women turn to him, hair flying behind them with the force of it. Thor is pinned in place by Frigga’s clear blue eyes and Loki’s sweet green.

                Thor sometimes feels like Loki and Frigga have all of the real power in the royal family, and that they are too similar to each other for comfort.

                He squirms. “I think that it would be…extremely…politically…beneficial?” Thor stammers out. “I have no desire to wed you either, Loki, but if it would be best for the kingdom…”

                Loki smiles at him, but it still holds the poison it did when it was directed at Frigga. “We all of us will speak of this again later, in a day or three perhaps. I shall need more time to decide. I imagine Thor does at well. If I may, Father?” She looks to Odin, and receives permission to be dismissed.

                Loki sweeps out of the room like a storm.

                There is an awkward silence.

                Frigga sighs. “I shall go talk to her. As much as she claims the court ladies and palace tutors have no effect on her behavior, they seem to have drilled what a princess must do for her realm deep into her.” She glances at Odin, and her tone turns solemn. “If you lock either of my children in an unhappy marriage, Borson, it will be on your head and you will not be forgiven.”

                Odin nods tiredly.

                Frigga leaves the room, skirt dragging behind her.

                His father groans and rubs his temple. “Thor, leave me for a while. Think about what we’ve talked about today. Go spar with your friends, just – I need _peace_.” Odin grumbles.

-o-

                Loki is curled up in the more secluded window-seat in the library. She holds the book tightly in her hand, something about animal husbandry. Even on a good day, she might have found this book boring. Today, she cannot keep her attention on the words.

                _Husband._

She growls and throws the book to the ground, the sound echoing through the vast room. Loki turns over to face the window, watches the courtyard down below. Sif is now sparring with Hogun, and Volstagg with Fandral. Thor is nowhere to be seen and for that she is glad.

                She does not want to marry him.

                But mustn’t she? If she does not there will be tales of the selfish jötunn princess who rejected her king and adopted father’s kindness and ruined the relations between a war-wrought icy realm and the most golden.

                And if she does, she will be wed to her brother.

                Loki is not sure which the worse fate is.

                She curls up in the soft silk of the cushion and waits for her mother to turn up. Frigga always does.

                Sure enough, the soft footsteps of her mother approach. Loki turns over to greet her mother. Frigga smiles at her and sits down on the window-seat next to her.

                “Loki.” Frigga says it gently. “You do not have to do this if you do not wish to. Odin would think it for the best, because he must be a king first and father second. I have the luxury of being a mother first and queen second. I do not wish to see either you or Thor unhappy.” As she speaks, Frigga pulls Loki’s circlet off her head and starts stroking her daughter’s hair.

                It helps Loki relax, but she is still so anxious. “I don’t see how I truly have a choice, Mother. Princesses aren’t selfish. They aren’t supposed to be. If I don’t, there will be tales and gossip and…Thor is not the worst man I could be wed to.”

                Frigga plays with the dark curls absently. “That is true. But I would rather have nasty gossip than my children unhappy.”

                Loki thinks on this. “I just…I must marry someone. I know Thor. I do not know any of these men I may be wed to in the future. I’d rather wed him for Jotunheimr and Asgard than wed an awful stranger for the same.”

                Frigga hums. “Let him think on it, if you believe this is what you’d prefer, if you really would rather marry Thor than another unknown man. You’ve been thinking about how you could be sent off to Álfheimr or Vanaheimr to be wed for longer than Thor has been thinking about the throne, I imagine.”

                “…Aye, mother.”

                Frigga frowns and motions for Loki to sit up. Her mother straightens Loki’s curls out before arranging the gilt circlet upon her head once more. Frigga leans in and kisses her foundling daughter’s forehead. “You must know I would never allow your father to do that to you, Loki.”

                Loki nods minutely, before she disappears out of the room with the tiniest flash of green light.

-o-

                He could not ask Hogun. Hogun does not show emotions often, Thor would feel as if he was constantly saying something wrong while he explains. And Hogun could hate Loki because of it, and it would be Thor’s fault.

                He could not ask Volstagg, for Volstagg is cheery and not very judgmental, but he is biased still. And to be completely honest, Volstagg would clap him on the back and say to do as the heart desires, and then likely ply him with stories of his own wife.

                Fandral, he could not ask either.

                Thor remembers the time he saw Loki lead Fandral into the library, and had followed to see them in an embrace. He remembers how angry he was – she is his _little sister,_ and no womanizer like Fandral was going to crush her heart. If Thor explained the situation to him, Fandral would undoubtedly assume Thor had romantic feelings for Loki based on that debacle.

 Or worse yet, he would find her _exotic_ and try to charm her into his bed once more. No, he cannot ask Fandral.

                He dares not even think of asking Sif. Sif was Loki’s friend first, and surely if Loki wants to talk to an outsider about the situation, she will talk to Sif. It would not do to come upon them in their conversation about it, or to talk to Sif and alienate his sister should she seek her friend out.

                But he needs to talk about this to someone. He wants – needs an unbiased opinion. Someone who will not judge Loki for her heritage, and someone who does not hate Jotunheimr for being what she is.

Thor grabs Mjölnir out of her loop on his belt, and heads for the Bifröst.

Perhaps Darcy will be able to provide some suitable insight to this.

-o-

                Thor descends to Midgard much more gracefully than he did the first time, streamlined and easy instead of tumbling and…well, painful. He makes his way across the sand and to the building Jane and Darcy provided him shelter in earlier.

                He raps on the door especially gentle, careful not to accidentally shatter the glass.

                Jane opens the door, caught between a mix of cross and delighted to see him again. “Thor?”  
                “Jane.” Thor nods respectfully at her, before he sheepishly hangs his head. “I am most sorry for abandoning you when I saw you last. It was…rude.”

                “Yes, it was.” Jane laughs. “Come in, I guess. Erik isn’t home yet, but Darcy is.”

                “Really? That is most fortunate. I have a boon to ask of her.”

                “What is it?” She is curious; he supposes it makes sense she is. She is a ‘scientist’ after all.

                “I will explain when we are talking. Perhaps you could help me as well?”  
                “Of course, Thor.” Jane turns to the stairs and yells Darcy’s name up them. “She’ll be down soon. Uh…coffee?”

                Thor perks up. “Yes, please.”

                “Promise not to smash?”

                Thor nods. Jane laughs and begins fixing the coffee.

                Darcy thunders down the stairs, and bursts into a grin when she sees him. “Thor! Oh my god, it’s super great that you’re back! And I’m diggin’ the armor, buddy. Looks great.”

                “Thank you, Darcy.” Thor says with a smile. “I have a…situation that I would ask for your help with, both of you.”

                “Oh yeah, sure.” Darcy agrees immediately, before turning to her roommate-slash-boss. “Hey Jane, make me a cup too?”

                “Already on it.”

                “You’re a babe.”

                Jane smiles where she’s fixing the coffee. When all three cups are brewed and steaming, they all flop down onto the couch and relax.

                “So what’s your problem, big guy?” Darcy asks curiously, blowing on her cup.

                “It is…difficult to explain, but I shall as best I can.” Thor says. “I am a prince of Asgard, as you know. And recently, several things have come to light. I was – about to be crowned. And meet my betrothed.”

                “Aw dude, you’re engaged?” Darcy interrupts him. “Congrats! Tough luck, Ja -” Darcy squawks as Jane’s elbow meets her ribs.

                Thor is polite, so he pretends he did not hear the last bit, and continues on. “I did something foolish, and was sent here, you know this. When I returned…my father announced it to me, who my betrothed was.

                “You have your myths of us, yes? Is Loki in them?”

                Erik clears his throat from where he stands by the door. “Loki is a trickster god, and he ends up bringing Ragnarok, doesn’t he?”

                Thor laughs. “Aye and nay. She is a trickster, but Ragnarok is not brought by anyone. Likely, she spread that rumor herself.”

                Nobody speaks for a second, and Thor sighs. “She…is a shapeshifter, and preferred to take a male form in the early days when we visited Midgard. It made gallivanting around with Father and I much easier.

                “In any case, my mother revealed Loki’s heritage to me. I knew she was not my sister by blood, but by bond and that we were siblings regardless. And then Mother told me she was jötunn. A frost giant. Father told me who my betrothed was, and lo, ‘twas my sister. My frost giant sister.

                “Either of us can say no to the betrothal, but neither of us are truly sure what our answers are to be. I come to you seeking your advice.”

                Darcy blinks. “Wait, you mean he raised you next to the girl you’re supposed to marry as a sister and didn’t see how that could backfire?”           

                “My father thinks he is all-wise, and therefore all of his ideas are works of genius.”

                “Well…” Darcy thinks. “Incest is kind of a taboo on Earth, but you’re not siblings by blood so that’s not applicable. Do you want to marry her?”

                “Nay. She is my _sister._ But it is both of our duties. There is a _peace treaty_ riding on this.”

                “Ouch.” Darcy says, chewing on a fingernail absently. “Well I don’t really know, Thor. I’m not really sure what to do in a situation like this. Do what you have to? Make the best of it, I guess.”

                Thor nods. “Aye, that was what I was thinking. It is my duty as prince.”

                Jane hasn’t said anything since she learnt he was betrothed, sipping her coffee in an awkward silence. Erik glances over the three of them and sighs. “So, Thor, are you planning on coming back often?”

                Thor looks up at him, and beams. “But of course! You are true companions, all three of you.” He pauses. “Now, I think I must be off. I will tell Mother and Father of my decision. Thank you for your help, Jane, Darcy, Erik. Farewell, and thank you for the coffee as well.” Thor stands up from the couch and opens the glass door.

                He is standing out in the Puente Antiguo air for little more than a minute before the Bifröst yanks him back up to the golden realm where his family must await.

-o-

                Hogun is extending his hand down to Sif, asking silently if he may help her up from the dirt. She is about to decline when there is a sudden flash of green light. Loki is there, and without preamble she grabs Sif’s forearm and hauls her from the dust.

                “Sif, let’s go to your quarters for the rest of today. I need to talk to you in private, it’s important.”

                Sif affects a shocked face. “Loki, are you feverish? Talking to _me_ of important things?”

                Loki groans and begins dragging her away into the palace, towards, yes, Sif’s own quarters. “Tis truly important, though. I’ve…been betrothed. Potentially.”

                Sif stares at Loki. “Are you serious?”

                “Aye.”

                “Oh, Loki. To whom?”

                “I – I don’t know if I can tell you. Politics. _Politics._ ”

                Sif sighs. “Would a drink help?”

                “Not if it’s honeyed wine.” Loki pulls a face, scrunching her nose up.

                “Ugh, no, that is much too sweet. I was thinking filthy tavern ale instead.”

                Loki pauses. “Yes, that sounds wonderful. Let us fetch our cloaks from your chambers and be off – and I will…see if I can tell you while we’re there.”

                “Try to tell me the truth, if you even can. Believe it or not, Loki, I’d rather not be fed lies.”

                There’s an impish grin from Loki thrown her way. “Sif, I will make no promises.”

                Sif punches Loki’s shoulder affectionately. “You would not be Loki if you did.”

                Loki’s tinkling laughter echoes through the hallways, and she says, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “Yes, Loki must always have secrets and make no promises, correct?”

                “Aye.” Sif says cheerfully. "That she must. Now let us be off, so we may be back before Thor or your mother thinks to look for you."

-tbc-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still really self-indulgent! Please leave critique and such? Yes. Um.  
> I hope you enjoyed!


	4. maids are May when they are maids...

               The glasses are perhaps only a bit clearer than particularly clean mud, and the ale is bitter and disgusting and terribly strong. Sif places another coin on the table, and then there are two more glasses.

               They exchange glances before knocking the glasses back and downing the ale in one.

               Sif doesn’t place another coin on the table, this time, and looks at Loki. She herself is not a lightweight, but Loki doesn’t drink often enough for Sif to be comfortable giving her round after round after round without pause.

               And she’s curious to whom the Alföðr has apparently betrothed his foundling daughter to. What man is man enough not to be eaten alive by their vicious little princess of Asgard? Brave enough to accept the proposal? She almost pities the poor suitor. If Loki does not like him, their marriage will be bloody and cold. Downright frigid.

               “So who is it?” Sif asks, staring at Loki. “If you truly cannot tell me, I am not paying for your round again, Loki.” Blackmail, plain and simple.

               By the look on Loki’s face, she appreciates it. Likely she’d have done the same had the situation been reversed.

               Loki spits to her side, all dignity and manners of the court forgotten. She frowns. “Politics. I don’t – will you keep it secret?”

               Well, barring Thor if he does not already know, and probably Hogun. Maybe Volstagg. Fandral, of course. He denies it, but Sif suspects Fandral has a soft spot in his heart for the princess. He’d have to know.

               “Of course.” Sif pledges. “I will keep it most secret.”

               Loki glances up at her face. “You’re lying.”

               “No I’m not.”

               “Sif.”

               “Yes?”

               “You must keep it  _secret-_ secret. You’re not to tell it to Hogun, or Volstagg, or Fandral.”

               Damn. “Of course. What did I say to make you think otherwise?”

               “I could see it on your face, Sif. You’re an awful liar.” Loki smiles, though. “Another round?” She asks most sweetly. Conniving little thing.

               Coins are laid absentmindedly on the table and two more cups are brought. Sif holds the handle of Loki’s tightly. “Tell me, Loki. I promise not to tell a soul.”

               Loki looks up at her from under thick black eyelashes, and Sif wants to curse her. “On your honor, my lady?” A pretty flutter of those eyelashes, a tiny and ridiculous pout.

               Sif groans.  “Yes, Loki, on my honor. Stop being a minx and tell me.”

               Loki laughs. “Alright,” She says. And then frowns. “Give me the ale, and I’ll tell you.”

               Sif passes it to her without another word, and this time they both take careful sips of the drink. There are identical grimaces on their faces, and a bit of the head on the edge of Loki’s cheek.

               Loki swallows roughly, and then buries her face in her hands. “Thor.”

               Sif twists in her seat, looks around. She doesn’t see her comrade anywhere. “Er. Excuse me?”

               “It’s Thor.”

               “Does he not approve of your match? Is he kicking a fuss over who it is? Or has he arrived here? Loki, you must be more specific.”

               Loki raises her face out of her hands, and positively snarls, “It’s  _Thor,_ you dullard - I’m to wed  _Thor!”_

               Sif blinks. “Loki, this is not the place or time for your pranks.”

               Loki goes from enraged to morose in seconds. “That is perhaps the worst part. It is ridiculous enough that people would think it a trick. Tis no trick, Sif, but tis the truth.” She wrinkles her nose up and kicks idly at the bar. “Can you imagine it? Thor and I? It’s the most awful thing I can imagine.”

               Sif imagines it. It’s odd. She can see them being affectionate in silly ways, but the ways that fit a doting elder brother and a prissy younger sister. Not a couple, courting or wed.

               It must show on her face, because Loki titters at her. “Isn’t it just horrible? I don’t think it’d be truly good for either of us, but it’s…important that we are wed.” Loki traces her finger against the rim of the glass, and takes another large gulp. She makes a face like someone who has just been stabbed and turns to Sif. “Oh, just imagine the wedding night! It’d be the most awkward and dutiful thing to ever happen in all the realms. Ugh. Now I have that image in my head. So do you. That’s fair, I suppose.”

               “Loki, hush up.”  
               “Huh?”

               “You’re rambling. About things I never wanted to think about. Stop.”

               Loki falls silent. They drink down the rest of their respective mugs.

               “So it’s really Thor?” She just needs Loki to say it once more. Once more, and she’ll know if it’s true or not. 

               “Yes, Sif. It’s truly Thor.” Loki frowns. “Don’t tell anyone. I don’t know whether to say yes or to say no. It’s for the good of Asgard, so I ought to say yes. But… _Thor_.”

                Sif pats Loki’s shoulder sympathetically. “Another round?”

                “Aye.” Loki drawls the sound out unreasonably long. “I do not want to be clearheaded for the rest of the day.”

-o-

                Sif does not know what to think.

                She thinks of when she and Thor had been in a short romance. It had been nice, for a time. It had been sweet. Cut short when she’d woken up with a shorn head courtesy of Loki and the hair that grew back in was the darkest ink.

                Loki looked caught between ashamed and pleased. Ashamed, because she’d hurt her friend. Pleased, because she claimed they looked like sisters now.

                Loki wore bruises around her neck, a Cheshire grin, and a cut on her cheek for two days after that.

                She thought, before, that it had been because Loki had not been pleased to have her closest friend and elder brother courting each other.

                Now, she is not so sure.

-o-

                Thor can’t find any of his family. They are not in the throne room, not in the gardens.

                He decides to look for Loki in her chambers, and there she is. She’s face down on her bed, giggling into the pillow. “Sister?” He asks, moving towards her.

                “Thor!” Loki twists and shoots up to face him, but something is wrong with the movement. She ends up falling back down to the bed with an ‘oomph!’ and snickers at herself. “What brings you here, Thor?”

                She’s  _slurring_. She smells like bad  _liquor_. She can hardly  _hold herself up_.

                “You’re drunk.” He states woodenly. “Oh, Loki, you’re drunk.”

                His sister hardly drinks, let alone gets deep in her cups enough to get well and truly drunk. And yet here she is.

                “Yes?” She says, but it sounds like a question. “Thoooooor.” Giggling. “What brings you here? Tell me.”

                “I wanted to talk to you. It can wait until later.”

                “Why would it have to wait until later?” She catches his wrist and tugs him down to the bed. “Tell me, tell me.” She’s drawling and slurring and her green eyes are lidded.

                Mayhap some other man would’ve found it attractive. Found  _her_ attractive. Thor knows men look at his sister and find a coquettish little conquest-to-be, but when he sees her like this he is reminded of her toddling around after him at a century, or a century or a half.

                Thor sighs, and Loki squirms over to lay her head in his lap, staring up at him. “Come on, Thor, tell me.” And she frowns for a second, and reaches for his hand again. She nestles it in her head and says imperiously, “Stroke my hair.”

                Even while drunk, his sister is still demanding, it seems. Thor complies, and pets her hair softly. ”It was no matter, I swear it, sister.”

                This time, when Loki frowns, it is more permanent than before. “Don’t call me that.”

                “What, sister?”

                “Aye.” She furrows her eyebrows. “Tis odd to call the girl you’re betrothed to ‘sister’. I’d rather not be reminded that might be to wed my brother.” She’s fairly eloquent even in drunkenness, surprisingly.

                “Does it bother you, our betrothal?”

                “Mm. Verily. I’m planning on accepting, though. For – for Asgard. And for Jotunheimr, I s’pose.” Her frown deepens. “I hope you don’t think that’s awful of me.”

                “No, sister, it’s not. I sought advice down on Midgard. They suggested I did the same.”

                The frown is wiped off as if it was never there, and she’s beaming now. “Oh, good. I’d hate to be alright with it…and for you not to be, and think I was horrid and odd.”

                “Loki…” He wants to say he would never – but he might’ve, and it hurts to realize it.

                “Hush up Thor.” Loki pulls her head off its resting place on her thighs, and pushes at his legs feebly. “Now get out, I’m sleeeeeepy.”

                Thor does not say that she is the one who asked him to stay in the first place, just tucks his sister in and kisses her chastely on the forehead before leaving.

-o-

                “Is it true?” This is the first thing Sif says to him, whispered urgently behind a pillar in an out-of-the-way corridor.

                Thor would ask ‘is what true?’ on any other occasion, but he knows what she’s talking about. He feels as if this particular topic is the only one he’s talked about recently. He sighs heavily and says, “Yes, it’s true. I’d rather not t alk about it.”

                Sif nods. “That was Loki’s opinion as well. Would you rather go and spar then? I for one am itching for a good fight, and I believe Fandral is as well…”

                Thor grins. “Aye, that sounds pleasant indeed. Let us be off?”  
                “Let us be off.” Sif repeats his words, and they head towards the courtyard.

                There is dust flying per usual though there are only a few warriors sparring today. Thus, it is easy to spot Hogun, Fandral, and Volstagg standing off to the side and watching the fights.

                The Warriors Three call out, “Sif! Thor!” when they see their companions approaching. By the time Thor and Sif reach the men, they are all smiling hugely. Or, in Hogun’s case, looking more benevolent than usual.

                “Tis good to see you all,” Thor said. “I had gone back to Midgard for a short time; though the people there are nice, it is always a relief to see familiar faces ‘gain.”

                “Tis good to see you as well, Thor.” Hogun replies. “The people need to see their prince more than we however. Your absence has been largely noticed of recent.”

                Thor frowns. “Has it? That is not good.”

                “No, tis not.” Hogun says. “I know you most likely came here to spar, but this could become a more pressing matter in time.”

                “And!” Fandral chimes in. “And I need to get trinkets for the ladies. So I thought that perhaps we could venture to the marketplace instead.”

                “Which ladies?” Sif snorts. “All of them?”

                “Stop being cruel, Sif.” Volstagg says. “You and I know both that very few women truly like Fandral, and to say ‘all of them’ is just rubbing it in his face.”

                There is a round of laughter – minus Hogun - with Fandral scowling at them.

                “Oh, you know we tease.” Sif says, jostling Fandral with her elbow. “It was in jest, Fandral. Come on; let’s get to the marketplace so that Fandral can buy gifts for his ladyloves, and Thor may be seen out and about again.”

                “Mm, Sif, I’m afraid I cannot.” Thor says sheepishly. “If I am to leave the palace, I would rather do so after seeking out my parents. I have – news, to tell them. The people will be seeing me soon enough, I am sure.”

                Sif frowns. “Surely they would not be angered at your leaving the palace?”

                “That is not it, my friend. The sooner they are told, the better. It has to do with – the betrothal.”

                “Oh yes!” Fandral says. “Do you know who it is, you sly dog?”  
                “Aye. I’m sure it will be announced within the day once I tell my parents I accept. I had thought to spar, but…”

                “No, Fandral and the rest can still go out, can you not?” Hogun questions solemnly. “I’d rather spar than help Fandral find trinkets to woo his women.”

                “Ah, thank you, friend. I would enjoy that very much.”

-o-

                He is sore and rather dirty when their match is over, and feels all the better for it. Thor wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and grins at Hogun. “Thank you, Hogun.”

                “Who are you betrothed to?” Hogun says simply. “You’re very bothered by it.”

                He  _wants_ to tell Hogun.

                He can’t – and he shan’t.

                “I’m sorry, Hogun. I cannot tell you as of yet. I imagine you shall be aware on the morrow at the latest.”

                “Thor.” Hogun says, warningly.

                “Hogun.”

                Hogun sighs. “Fine. Do not tell me. Go and talk to your parents, I’d like to know as soon as possible.”

                “Aye.” Thor’s eyes dart from Hogun to the corridor leading to the royal apartments. “Goodbye, my friend.”

                “And to you as well, Thor.”

-o-

                His parents are in their chambers, sitting and talking earnestly. Thor wants to scream when he hears the topic; the betrothal. The only topic the royal family could talk about, it seemed.

                It is an important topic, especially of late, and he knows that, but he’d almost rather talk of Vanaheimr and Álfheimr’s utterly banal peace treaty.

                Thor clears his throat to announce himself. “Mother, Father.”  
                “Thor.” They say in unison.

                 “Sit down,” Odin goes on to say. And then – “Why are you here, my boy? Have you made a decision?”

                “Yes, I have.”

                “…And?” Frigga prompts, after a moment of silence.

                “I am fine with the betrothal.” Thor says slowly. “I accept the suit. Whatever words I must say to bind me to Loki, I shall, for peace and the kingdoms.”

                Odin nods, pleased. Frigga looks rather worried, but she nods as well. “And your sister?”

                “I think she means to say yes as well, but she was very deep in her cups when I saw her last, so I am not sure.”

                “Yes, I think she is going to agree as well from what she’s said. I shall ask her before noonday tomorrow, and it will be announced at the midday meal if she acquiesces.” Frigga says quietly, before she sighs. “So we should probably prepare an embassy to be sent to Jotunheimr, make sure her bride price is still safe and see if we need to add anything to it…Oh, the seamstresses will not be happy.”

                “I’ll send men to these things tomorrow, love. Er, besides the seamstresses. You may tell the seamstresses, and perhaps Loki should come with you? And if a jötunn ambassador arrives, he will be sent there as well, to talk of.”

                “Aye. It’s late, Thor. Get to bed. Leave us.”

                “Goodnight, Mother, Father.”

                “Goodnight, Thor.”

-o-

                Loki stirs as Frigga gently shakes her shoulder.

                “Mother…?” She groans. “Ugh, my throat is so dry. Can you have my chambermaid send for some water?”

                “Of course. Svanhilde?” Frigga turns to Loki’s young maid. “Fetch us some water, please.”

                “What time is it?” Loki rolls over and holds a hand over her eyes. “I feel positively miserable. This is why I don’t drink.”

                Frigga resists the urge to laugh, and instead says, “It’s about nine in the morning. Ah… your brother came to your father and I yesterday.”

                “ _And_?” Loki snaps at her mother.

                “And he has agreed to the marriage.”  
                “Wonderful. I must be woken to be told this because?”

                “We must know whether or not you agree to it as well.”

                Loki does not say anything, just breathes with a hand over her face for a minute. Then she says, “Yes. I will. For Asgard, and Jotunheimr, and all of those other petty reasons.”

                Frigga sighs. “I did not want either of you to agree to this foolish plan of your father…but you’re good children, I suppose. You’ll both make wonderful rulers, with how dedicated you are to the realm.” She runs her fingers absently through Loki’s hair. “Do you want to come to the tailors with me? We have to talk gowns, unfortunately. She’ll just want your measurements and what style you’ll prefer today. And it will give you a place to hide out after the wedding has been announced.”

                “I’d rather not move at all, Mother. Ugh.” Loki grimaces, and says harshly, “Svanhilde! Where is that water?”

                “Don’t be rude, Loki.”

                “My head hurts.”

                “Hush up, stop whining. Get up, come on, lazy girl. Let’s get to the tailor.” Svanhilde comes back from fetching the water, and Frigga tuts. “Oh, Svanhilde, just put the water on the desk. Help me lift her up; I’m sure we can carry her to the seamstresses together.”

                “Mother!” Loki shrieks, outraged, as she is lifted bodily from her bed. Her warm, soft, QUIET bed. “Put me down this instant! Svanhilde, how dare you, by Odin’s beard, I will not stand for this --!”

                Frigga does laugh, then. “You’ll not stand for anything, Loki. You’re going to the tailors, and we’re going to carry you there.”

                “I hate both of you.” Loki states simply. “Pleeeease put me down?”

                “No. Svanhilde, let’s go.”

                “Can I at least have that water first?” She’s near begging, and it makes Frigga want to pinch her daughter’s arm and tease her for it.

                “Hm. No. Not until we get to the seamstresses’ chambers. What do you think of blue, Svanhilde?”

                The young girl smiles. “I think blue is lovely, m’lady Queen.”

                “Ah, what a sweet girl. I might have you made a waiting-in-lady. Would you like that?”

                “Very much, m’lady.”

                “Good. That means you get to help wrangle into her wedding robes with me, of course.” Frigga smiles at the poor, unsuspecting chambermaid.   
                They end up dropping Loki on the floor, and the princess shouts curses and blasphemies at them until two of the palace guards come running to see what the matter is.

                Loki tries to have Frigga and Svanhilde arrested by the guards for assault and kidnapping against a member of the royal family.

                Frigga tries to wheedle the guards into picking her daughter back up and carrying her to the tailors’ room.

                One of them is successful, and it’s not Loki.

-o-

                Before they set off for the tailors’ room, Frigga pulls aside one of the guards. “Would you be so kind as to run a message to the king? Tell him his daughter has agreed, and that we are currently awaiting him to announce it in the seamstresses’ room.”

                The guard does not ask ‘agreed to what?’ or ‘announce what?’ or any other nosy and inappropriate questions. He says, “Of course, my lady,” with a bow. And then “Is that all?”

                Frigga thinks on it. “If you would advise Thor to be with his father when the announcement is made, that would be marvelous.”

                The guard nods, and leaves in an undignified jog to do the tasks Frigga has set him.

-o-

                Odin is in the council room when a guard walks in, looking slightly disheveled. “My king!” The guard calls out. “The queen has asked me to pass a message onto you.”

                “What is the message, lad?” Odin asks.

                “She says that the Lady Loki accepts, and that they are awaiting you to announce the news in the seamstresses’ room.”

                Odin nods once absentmindedly. “Good, good. Did she ask you to go get Thor? If not, go and tell him the same thing you told me, and that I require his presence.”  
                “I was just about to do that, my king.” The guard bows.

                “Off with you, then. It’s a matter of most import.” Odin resists the urge to snicker when he says that – it is most certainly not a matter of most import, but he would like Thor to be here as quickly as possible. “Thank you, lad.”

                “Certainly, my king.”

                The guard walks out calmly and collectedly, but Odin can hear his steps change from a dignified walk to an unseemly jog once he is out of sight.

                Odin waits for his son.

-o-

                Thor eats voraciously, as always. Breakfast is perhaps his least favorite meal of the day, and more Loki’s favorite. There is less meat and mead, and more breads and fruits and water than he’d like, but he is hungry and so he eats.

                About halfway through the morning meal, a guard comes up and hails him. “Prince Thor, your father the king requests your presence in the council room immediately. He says it is of most import.”

                Thor raises his eyebrows. “Are you party to the reason why I am called to the council room?”

                “I am not sure, my prince. The king and queen sent me to tell you also that the lady Loki accepts. Accepts what, I am also not aware of. That is all.” The guard waits.

                Thor sighs and nods. “I shall be on my way immediately. Are you to escort me there, or have you some other business to attend to?”

                The guard shakes his head. “Neither, my prince.”

                “Then – be off with you to patrol, or whatever ‘twas your duty before my parents sent you here,” Thor says, standing up abruptly and stalking over to the halls leading to the council room.

                He walks through the halls with tense shoulders; if Loki has accepted, and he has as well, then they are to be married within a week at the most. Ugh. Not ugh. It’s all very confusing, the tangled knot of emotions and logics.

                He knocks once on the wide and gilded doors of the council room, and his father’s voice answers, “Come in, Thor.”

                Thor does, and his father is awaiting him.

                “Did the guard tell you of Loki’s acceptance?”

                “Yes, Father. He did.”

                “Good. So we are to send an ambassador off to Jotunheimr, and await their return and possibly foreign sovereigns.” Odin cuts off the beginning of an outburst from his son. “Yes, Thor, that means Laufey and his princes will be here. They will overlook any ceremonies you two may have to go through in order for the marriage to be valid in Jotunheimr as well, and they will be here also to collect Loki’s bride price and officiate the wedding.”

                Thor is not happy that Helblindi and Býleistr are to be there as well. Not only do they make him feel faint stirrings of jealousy (for they are  _truly_ Loki’s brothers, and they did not even want her for a sister!) but he is still far too enraged over the princes’ attack on Asgard to even be slightly looking forward to meeting the foreign dignitaries anew.

                He nods, though. “Is there anything required of me?”

                “I need you to head down to the astronomers’ and scholars’ rooms. Ask them what the most auspicious day for a royal wedding between Jotunheimr and Asgard would be. Come back to me, and tell me the date they give you.” Odin pauses, and strokes his beard in thought. “We will announce the date and wedding together, and then you are to go to the tailors’. Your mother and sister should be there already, and tell them you need new clothes for the wedding. Tell them the date, as well.

                “And if Jotunheimr’s princes or king shows up, you need to apologize most sincerely and wish them well, and – chaperone them, if they wish to speak to your sister. Laufey is a snake, and he might try to upset her greatly.”

                Thor blinks. “That is a lot of tasks, Father, but I will try to fulfill them to my best ability.”

                “Not try, Thor, will.” Odin sighs again. “Astronomers’. Now. Hurry, boy, we only have until noonday.”

                Thor nods and turns in the doorway, heading up to the tower where the astronomers’ did their work. Hopefully they’d be there already and lucid enough for work.

-o-

                It is already dark in Jotunheimr when Helblindi runs up to Laufey seated on the throne of ice. “Dam,” he says breathlessly, “The titchy ambassador, the one named Skári, just touched down at the Bifröst site! Býleistr went to meet him. He said he shall guide him to the palace to meet with you.”

                Laufey raises his brows. “I was anticipating waiting for half a century at the least; the Æsir are being very brisk.”

                "Do you believe it is about – the wedding?”

                “What else would it be about, you half-witted child?”

                "Dam, you do not need to treat me as if I am Býleistr. It was a legitimate question.” His youngest says with a show of princely displeasure.

                Laufey pats Helblindi’s shoulder once. “Hush up, Helblindi.”

                Helblindi frowns, and then straightens his spine so it is straight as a sword when he spots two figures approaching, one large and blue and one small and florid.

                Both Laufey and Helblindi wait for quite a long time for the tiny áss to reach the icy stage the throne rests upon.

                Skári bows with an almost sarcastic flourish when he reaches the foot of the stage. “Laufey-King. Asgard sends her best regards to you and yours.”

                Laufey nods respectfully. “Lord Skári. Why have you come to us today?”

                “The royal family of Asgard sends a message, from me to you. The marriage between…Loki-Princess and Prince Thor is to be held as soon as conceivable. My king wishes for you, Laufey-King, or perhaps one of your princes, to come and supervise any ceremonies they need to go through for the marriage to be valid in Jotunheimr as well, and to oversee the wedding preparations as well.”

                Laufey raises a singular eyebrow. “And that is all the Alföðr had to say?”

                “And…collect the bride price, Laufey-King.”

                He nods once, a gesture as sharp as the ice that bursts from Jotunheimr’s core. “Aye. We shall come. What time are we to be off?”

                “My king has said that he would prefer you to arrive shortly after the eventide meal, but that whenever is acceptable for you is acceptable for him as well.”

                “Good. We shall depart at the time the Alföðr has set for us.” Laufey decrees. “My princes, prepare for a voyage to Asgard. And, Býleistr, if you could run down to the seamstresses and ask them to [sketch up](http://www.kci.or.jp/archives/digital_archives/detail_111_e.html) some acceptable wedding robes for our princess in Asgard quick as you please, that would be  _splendid.”_

“Aye, Dam.” Býleistr says chirpily. “And I promise I shan’t attack Asgard once more.”

                Laufey grumbles under his breath as his sons scamper out into the hall, to pack and pick up what he’s asked of them. He takes a deep breath, and turns to Skári. “We do not have any fires for you to warm yourself by, Lord Skári, but we have furs if you require them…?”

-o-

                “The most auspicious date would be two days from now, my prince. However should you require more time for the preparations, there is an equally auspicious day in three weeks?” The head astronomer says hesitantly.

                Thor nods. “Thank you, scholar. My father and I most sincerely appreciate your help in this matter.”

                “Of course, my prince.” The astronomer says with a shy smile. “Give our regards to the king.”

                “Certainly,” Thor says, as he heads back down the spiral staircase.

-o-

                “They have said,” Thor begins without announcing his presence to his father, “that the most auspicious day would be in two days’ time from now, or in a fortnight and a half.”

                Odin hums thoughtfully. “Two days or three weeks…Laufey would undoubtedly be pleased more should we do it in two days. And with the fiasco we’ve had recently, and the great war, it would be best for Asgard to look as though she is helping Jotunheimr.”

                “Aye.” Thor says slowly. “But do you not think that the palace staff might not be able to accomplish the tasks to make this fit for a royal wedding in two days?”

                “Oh, my boy.” Odin doesn’t  _smirk,_ but it’s too sharp to be truly called a smile. “Frigga and I were wed with half a day’s notice. The wedding was extravagant befitting royalty anyways.”

                “Alright, Father. Two days, then?”

                “Aye, I think so.”

                “…How long until the midday meal?”

                “An hour, perhaps.”

                “So we shall wait?”

                “Aye. We shall wait. I’ve sent the ambassador to Jotunheimr, by the by. Heimdall says Laufey plans to appear by way of the Bifröst with his princes after the eventide meal. He says also that they are pleased to hear the news of the wedding.”

-o-

                The mead hall always seems fuller when Thor is sitting at the head table rather than in the crowd. The mass of people staring up at him and his father is almost intimidating.

                “My people,” Odin begins, voice booming across the halls. “Before my son, your prince’s exile his betrothed was to be announced. Now that he is back, we have joyous news to give you all of this betrothal.

                “It is not widely known that Jotunheimr has a princess. In fact, in the past eight centuries and half, perhaps five people were aware of this. Myself, your queen, the royal couple of Jotunheimr, and good Heimdall. It is my pleasure to make you all aware of Jotunheimr’s daughter, and the engagement between her and my son Thor.”

                There are whispers in the crowd. Thor would not bear it if he could hear them. They are likely saying awful things about Loki, his darling little sister. ‘Our prince, engaged to a beastly giantess?’ they might be saying even now. Thor could not bear it.

                “The wedding is to be held in two days,” Odin proclaims. “It shall be a magnificent event. The wedding between Prince Thor Odinson, crown prince and heir of Asgard’s Throne, and the Lady Loki Odinsdóttir, a princess of Asgard and of Jotunheimr, first daughter of Jotunheimr.”

                Now, instead of the whispers, there is a roar of confusion. Loki, princess of Asgard and of  _Jotunheimr?_ While still being an Odinsdóttir? Though all knew Loki was not even truly an ásynja, nobody would’ve ever imagined her as jötunn. A vanr, maybe, or a ljósálfr, but not jötunn. Never jötunn.

                Thor can pick out his comrades’ faces in the crowd. Sif looks stunned, shocked. Fandral looks – yes, Thor scowls, Fandral looks as though he finds it so incredibly  _exotic_ and alluring. Hogun, as always, does not let his face betray whatever he is thinking. And Volstagg looks so entirely sympathetic…Thor feels pity for Volstagg. He will undoubtedly snatch Loki up into a crushing hug the next time he sees her, and she will undoubtedly dull his taste-buds for a prolonged period of time.

-o-

                The tailors look pleased to see him, measurements taken swiftly and deftly the minute he stands still. He dares not move over to where Frigga and Loki stand, looking impatient and annoyed. “Red as usual, my prince?” One of them, Dagný, asks cheerily. And then she pauses for a beat, before she says, “And gold embellishments?”

                Thor laughs. “I know that you have made my clothes many a time, but tis still odd to have you know my tastes so well.”

                “Mm,” She teases him. “I was thinking, perhaps soft goat wool? What do the mortals call it? Your goats have wool suitable for that, my prince, and we don’t do much with it anyways.”

                “Aye.” Thor agrees. “That would be suitable.”

                “Dyed with madder?”

                “Yes. As strong as you can make it.”

                “Alright, my prince.” She turns, and scratches down a measurement of his arm on a scrap of paper. “So what I was thinking was, perhaps something like this?” Dagný rummages around, and eventually turns to show him another scroll, with a [sketchy design](http://i.imgur.com/O2T4F.jpg) on it. “We used this design for a piece of clothing for your brother, originally. It looked marvelous on him, and you two have such similar builds that it will surely look fetching on you as well.”

                Thor does not know, honestly. Fashion and styles have never really been something he paid attention too. So he smiles, and nods.

                “Oh, my prince, you have no idea what I’m talking about, do you? Don’t worry, I’ll make it look good, I swear.” Dagný grins. “Now, what are we doing for pants? Britches or trousers?”

                Dagný babbles on, with Thor agreeing to everything she says. Eventually, Loki moves from where she stood surrounded by seamstresses over to where Thor is now.

                “Brother.” She says coolly. “Dagný.”

                “M’lady.” Dagný says.

                “Sister.” Thor says, with a slight nod.

                “May I see what you’re to dress Thor in?” Loki inquires. “Nobody is sure what I am to wear, honestly, we’re waiting for the Jötunn embassy to arrive. It’ll probably be  _blue.”_

“Mm, yes.” Dagný agrees. “Probably blue and silver.”

                Loki sighs. “But I do so prefer green and gold. It is almost as if it is not my wedding at all.”

                “Ah, but m’lady, if you wore green and your brother red, it would be like that one…Oh, blast it. What’s that Midgardian religion that took over the old Norsk one? Christinity? It’s like that one Christin holiday, Christ-mass or something.”

                “Oh.” Loki blinks. “Well, we can’t have that. They did, after all, displace my greatest trick yet.”

-o-

                Loki declines Thor’s offer to escort her to dinner, and instead he hears her send her maid Svanhilde out to fetch her food from the kitchens.

                Disappointing. He was hoping she’d chose to let the people get over it sooner by seeing she was still their princess Loki, but if she wanted to be sequestered away in the tailors’ chambers, who was he to stop her?

                The eventide meal is awkward, and Thor cannot bolt his food fast enough, for he is starving after  a day hidden away in the tailors’. The Jötunn embassy will arrive as soon as dinner is over, though, and that thought makes Thor want to retch and wish dinner would never be over.

                He can abide marrying his sister. He does love her, though not in the way he thinks Odin would prefer. She is his darling little sister.

                And the king of Jotunheimr is the man who left his darling little sister out to die in the cold, alone and wretched.

                He would be able to stand being pleasant to Laufey. He just does not want to.

                Thor draws out dinner as long as he can, but eventually a guard proclaims that the king and princes of Jotunheimr have arrived, and would Prince Thor please escort them down to the seamstresses’?

-o-

                The Bifröst is still as magnificent as it is every time Laufey lays eyes on it. Shining and rainbow and glittering. It almost hurts his eyes after the darkness that is Jotunheimr.

                The golden Æsir prince is approaching them, and he nods respectfully at the three Jötunn. “Laufey-King. Býleistr-Prince, Helblindi-Prince. It is a pleasure to see you again.” Laufey feels a small amount of glee at the slightly pained expression Thor has when he says ‘pleasure’.

                “And it is a pleasure to be here again,” Laufey says smoothly. He nudges Býleistr discreetly, and points with his chin at Asgard’s prince.

                “Prince Thor,” Býleistr starts, throwing a death glare at his Dam while he does so. “I deeply regret my belligerent actions during my last stay in your realm. I hope all is forgiven?”

                Thor grinds his teeth subtly, and Laufey is just so pleased that he can watch this golden prince’s discomfort. “Aye, all is forgiven. And I hope you, Laufey-King, have forgiven me for mine own careless actions. I did not mean to be so accusatory towards you.”

                “Then all is forgiven here as well.” Laufey nods regally. “So. Lead me to my…” Laufey pauses to sneer dramatically, here. “ _Daughter_ , then.”

                He says the word ‘daughter’ with especial disdain and disgust just to see Thor’s eyes flash in anger.

-o-

                In the kitchen, fires are blazing and spits turning. Cooks run amok, preparing meats and honeyed tarts and wines and rolling up barrels of mead from the cellar. Fruit is being sugared, and dough for bread is being kneaded. The entire room is in a flurry of activity.

                In the tailors’, all of the seamstresses sit on their stools, hurriedly stitching perfect rows of perfect little stiches of newly dyed red wool. One girl works on fastening a latch of gold to the high neck of Thor’s tunic; another girl is busy embroidering runes for virility and happy marriage on one sleeve cuff. Dagný works on the other sleeve cuff, creating runes for safety and peace and happiness. Loki stands in the middle of the textile-related chaos, tapping her feet impatiently. Frigga’s hands are on her shoulders, soothingly, telling her not to worry.

                The halls are being polished, the embassy rooms dusted and sheets changed. The throne room is being scoured and shined more thoroughly than usually. Everyone is busy and no one has a moment to spare.

                The bathing rooms are being readied. The bridal suites are being tidied.

                Svanhilde waits, from her post at the palace gates, until she spots large blue figures and one lone Æsir prince, before she runs back down to the tailors’ room to make her princess aware of their arrival.

                Loki looks as if she might be more anxious than she let on.

-tbc-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so Thor's clothes are actually...Norse. Loki's are ...not. They're from the 1900s. Whatever. Asgardian fashion is probably all the fashions or something.
> 
> Mm, I have something I'd like to share. The brother the seamstress mentioned? Well, recently, Tyr was casted in Thor 2! And revealed to be Thor's elder half-brother. I realized I never mentioned that in the first chapter, though Tyr is in it and you are supposed to read it as Thor's older brother Tyr teaching him manly things and denying their little sister swordfight. AND I NEVER MENTIONED IT. So it's mentioned now.
> 
> Still self indulgent. Still want comments. Still want people to read it because I know a lot of people aren't reading it because it isn't two dudes fucking each other :(((( GUYS........


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